


i would walk 500 miles (and i would walk 500 more)

by captaindanger



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Relationships, M/M, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 19:02:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4972699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captaindanger/pseuds/captaindanger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What's supposed to be a 16-hour road trip turns into a four day excursion across the East Coast that results in a head wound, a cat adoption, and Monty and Miller falling in love (finally).</p>
            </blockquote>





	i would walk 500 miles (and i would walk 500 more)

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to that the moderators of the 100 Rare Pairs Challenge for beta'ing my fic last minute!! You guys rule.
> 
> This took 2 months to write and it's the longest thing I've ever written so if it sucks it sucks but I finished it so!!!!

Monty had been planning the road trip to Miami Beach for months. _Months._ Long enough for his so-called friends to carve out the week in their schedule ahead of time. They had all discussed it over one of their bi-weekly dinners (spaghetti and meatballs, courtesy of Wells and Clarke); all had been in agreement that they needed a vacation, especially since finals were almost upon them and nothing cured an academic burnout like seven days at the beach. Monty, of course, volunteered to do the planning. 

He had meticulously researched the trip: how long the drive would take, since all of them except Lincoln and Bellamy were college kids and plane tickets were out of the question; how many cars they would need to fit the eleven of them; exactly how often they would need to switch drivers so they didn’t end up dead on the side of the highway because the person at the wheel was sleep deprived; and how much it would cost to fit them all in a few motel rooms while they were down there. They had even chipped in the money already; about four hundred dollars each, give or take, just barely enough to feed themselves but they weren’t going for the food, were they?

But as the trip drew nearer and nearer, they had called him up one by one to apologize and back out. Octavia and Lincoln had just gotten engaged, so he let them slide. Planning a wedding was a nightmare and it was going to be taking up all of their time for the next year or so. He also forgave Jasper, who had snagged an internship at a promising app-development startup and barely had enough time to study between coffee runs, let alone go on a road trip to Florida. 

Everyone else had shit excuses and Monty was having a hard time forgiving them. Raven had balked at the idea of ‘being in a sardine can with five other people for fifteen hours straight,’ even though her job was literally sticking her head in and under cars the entire day. Harper had pretended to be sick on the phone, coughing a pathetic little fake cough that Monty saw right through, as if he didn’t know she was going to stay in her dorm in her undies the whole week while binge-watching True Detective and eating pizza bagels. (Boo, you whore.) 

Clarke actually did get sick – the flu – but he had seen Clarke go for jogs in the pouring rain in forty-five degree weather with a 102º fever. Her girlfriend Lexa, though, was forcing her to stay home, threatening to ‘drag her back to bed by her pinky toes if she even thought about going on a road trip,’ as Clarke told him over the phone. And if Clarke wasn’t going, Lexa wasn’t going; the only reason she was friends with any of them was because of Clarke and partially Lincoln. Even though Wells was not on the best terms with his dad, he had volunteered to help with his re-election campaign, and Monty knew he never broke a promise. 

Lastly, Bellamy just said he didn’t want to go. “Sorry, dude,” he said to Monty, not sounding particularly sorry at all.

Monty had to admit, he was hurt. He had been looking forward to spending time with just them, drinking and swimming and playing volleyball on the beach. He had been having a hard time, trying to balance school and a part-time job and communicating with his family and it was all overwhelming. Nothing sounded better than sitting in the sun, drinking a Corona with his friends. 

By the week they were supposed to leave, he had given up on the trip, ready to just cancel and spend the time they were supposed to be in Miami, moping in bed. He was waiting for Miller to call and say he had gotten a job as an alligator wrangler or that Elon Musk had personally invited him to go to space or something. When Miller finally did call, he answered with a flat voice, already anticipating spending the whole summer in his dorm. 

“Hey, Monty. Are you still up for the beach?” Miller said.

“Uh,” was all Monty could respond with, startled. 

“I know that everyone else backed out, which is a bummer. But I really need to get out of dodge, you know? I need a break.” There was an edge to his tone that Monty couldn’t place, like he was anxious or impatient.

“Yeah, I totally get you,” Monty said, finding his voice. “I feel the same way.”

“It would be just the two of us.” Miller paused. “Would that be okay with you?”

“Yes! Of course!” Monty chirped too quickly, his voice an octave higher than it should have been. 

“You don’t have to…” Miller started. 

“No, seriously! It’s great. It’s awesome. We’re going to have so much fun.”

“Okay,” Miller said, sounding amused at Monty’s eagerness. “I’ll see you Friday.”

___________________

Monty was a liar. He was actually not okay with being alone with Miller for a week. It probably had a little to do with the fact that they were not good friends, only acquaintances really; had only met through Bellamy, and, even though their group of friends spent an absurd amount of time together, had not gotten to know each other very well. But mostly it had to do with Monty’s massive, humiliating crush on him.

Since the day they had met, at a dive bar off campus, Monty had been embarrassingly in like with him. His strong grip, the way he looked people directly in the eye, the stubble that spread across his defined jaw, his laugh – Monty was head over heels. Gross. 

Just being around Miller made his skin heat up and his mouth go dry. His mere presence in a room could make it hard for Monty to focus on anything else, and god forbid he open his mouth to talk with that deep, rumbling voice. So of course, Monty avoided him at all costs. He would invent a reason to leave the room if he thought he might be left alone with Miller and sometimes would avoid spending time with his friends if he knew Miller was going to be there. It had gone so far that Wells had asked him if he had a problem with Miller. “No, no way!” Monty had rushed to say, but couldn’t explain why he refused to be around Miller by himself without spilling the beans about his dumb crush.

So, the fact that Monty was going to be stuck in a car with him for hours and then in a different state for a whole week, just them, alone, made him shake and sweat with nerves. How was he going to keep himself together? Miller was so hot and he was so weak. They’d be so close, elbows brushing against each other when they moved, body heat filling up the car, Miller’s cologne permeating the air-

_God, Monty, shut up,_ he told himself.

It had been decided ahead of time that they would be driving Lincoln’s 2001 Toyota Solara, graciously offered to them as an apology for flaking out. It was in pretty good shape for a car that would be in its freshman year of high school if it was a human. It was forest green, the paint still shiny like it had just been waxed. The back was plastered in bumper stickers; _Check Twice for Motorcycles_ , _Coexist_ , and _My Other Car Is Your Mom_ , among others. They were definitely Octavia’s doing.

Monty slung his suitcase into the backseat. It was ¾’s bathing suits and sunscreen. He’d been to the beach many times and knew how awful both sunburn and cold, damp swimsuits were. He drove to Miller’s apartment complex; he lived off campus, in a dinky building that looked like it was built in the 60’s. It was brick, five stories, with litter coating the front sidewalk. 

He pressed the buzzer next to Miller’s name on the front of the building and waited. Instead of a response from the speaker, Miller poked his head out of his window in the third floor, shouting down, “Coming! Be just a second!” Before Monty could answer, the window was slammed shut again. 

Miller came out the front door with a gym bag over his shoulder. “That’s all you’re taking?” Monty asked incredulously. “You know we’re going to be there for a week, right?”

Miller shrugged. “I’m just going to be swimming the whole time, and you only need one set of swim trunks.” He tossed his bag in the van next to Monty’s and got in on the passenger side. 

Monty got in alongside him and as they were buckling themselves up, he began, “Okay, we need to set some ground rules.” Miller quirked an eyebrow at him. “First of all, one of us can’t be driving the whole way, so we’re going to need to switch ever few hours. I was thinking every three, but we can do every two if that sounds better with you.” Miller didn’t say anything, just stared steadily at him. Not disheartened by his lack of response, Monty continued, “I want to get there as fast as possible, so we shouldn’t stop unless we absolutely have to. I’m talking an about- to-piss-your-pants emergency. I packed snacks and some bottles of water, so we don’t have to stop for food.” He pointed at a plastic grocery bag under Miller’s feet, filled with granola bars and trail mix. “Okay? Anything you want to add?”

Miller blinked at him, then leaned back in his seat. “I’m cool with whatever you want, man.” He took out his phone and began texting someone. Annoyance flared up in Monty’s chest, but he pushed it back down and smiled. 

“Cool,” he said.

_________________________________

For the first hour and a half, Monty drove, looking straight ahead. He was a focused driver. He took it very seriously, not eager to risk his or his passengers lives by being reckless. 

It was uncomfortably quiet in the van; Monty tried striking up conversations with Miller, but it proved unsuccessful. It wasn’t exactly surprising, Miller being a quiet person in general, but Monty thought he would be polite enough to ward off the awkward silence. It was road trip etiquette, talking to the driver so they didn’t get bored or sleepy. Miller didn’t seem to know that, though.

“So, how’s school?” Monty had asked him. He hated that he sounded like a distant relative at a family reunion, but they didn’t seem to have a lot in common and they had to talk about something. 

Miller shrugged, tapping away at his cellphone. His face was blank and unconcerned. “It’s fine, I guess.” 

When he didn’t elaborate, Monty continued, “What are you majoring in?” 

Miller’s face scrunched up in irritation. “Nothing.”

“Oh,” said Monty. “I’m majoring in laboratory sciences right now. I want to be a pharmacist.”

Miller hummed noncommittally. Monty felt heat creep up his neck. He’d never known Miller to be rude, but at that moment he was kind of being a dick. _Why do I have a crush on this guy?_ he asked himself. The more he brushed Monty off, though, the harder he tried to engage Miller. “Have you ever been on a road trip before?” he questioned Miller. 

“Once or twice,” Miller responded. He then took out a pair of earbuds and stuck them into his phone. Monty’s knuckles turned white on the steering wheel and his nostrils flared. What was this guy’s problem? He was just trying to be nice.

And so they drove in silence, except for the faint sound of music drifting from Miller’s headphones. The traffic was bad, people just beginning to travel for the summer, but fortunately not packed. Trees flitted by on either side of the turnpike, punctuated by squat houses and farms. Monty did his best to occupy himself with the scenery, looking out for cows or horses on the sides of the road or reading the different states on the license plates of passing cars. It didn’t work very well, and he found himself fidgeting in his seat with boredom. 

He must have zoned out because he didn’t notice the sky getting dark. He didn’t even look away from the road until a bright zigzag split the sky open, an almost consecutive boom shaking the earth. It scared Monty so badly that his foot twitched down onto the accelerator, jerking the car forward. “Fuck,” swore Miller, ripping his headphones off. 

In no time, a deluge was pouring forth from the sky, creating a curtain of water that made it impossible to see more than five feet ahead out of the windshield. “Put your hazards on,” said Miller.

“I know how driving in the rain works, Miller,” grumbled Monty, gritting his teeth. The sky was so dark it was like night had arrived eight hours premature. Monty held the steering wheel so hard his hands started to ache. He attempted to slow down, but the car behind laid on their horn. His brain was clouding with anxiety. “Maybe we should pull over,” Monty said, his voice almost a whimper. 

“Yeah,” said Miller, gripping the armrests of his seat. Monty put on his blinker, praying that the person in the car next to them could see it. Whoever it was didn’t, because they just sped up when Monty tried to change lanes. “Seriously?” yelled Miller, twisting around to glare at the car even though the other driver probably couldn’t see him through the rain. 

Monty tried again, but the driver just sped up again. The nose of their car was so close to their bumper that he panicked, twisting the wheel too far to the left too fast. They drifted, hydroplaning across the road. Both of them screamed in terror as the car careened into the next lane, which was thankfully empty. Monty tugged desperately at the wheel, trying and failing to point them back in the right direction. Instead, they slammed headfirst into the guardrail separating them from the cars headed the opposite way. 

Monty’s eyes were clenched shut. His neck hurt from being whipped around. He was vaguely aware of a pressure wrapped around his hand. A groan from beside him had him asking Miller, “Are you okay?” Miller just groaned again. 

Opening his eyes, Monty saw that the thing wrapped around his hand was Miller’s own hand. He didn’t know when they had reached for each other, but the contact felt reassuring. The airbags had deployed, and a white dust was settling around them. Monty was grateful that neither had been hit in the face with them; he’d heard horror stories of people breaking their noses from the impact of the bags against their faces, the nasal bones piercing the brain. He was also grateful that both of them were wearing their seatbelts (not that he would have let Miller in the car if he hadn’t put it on). “Are you hurt?” he asked Miller, who was sitting with his head leaned back against his seat, eye closed like Monty’s had been before. He squeezed Miller’s hand to get his attention, scanning his body for blood or contusions. He saw none.

“I think I just had a heart attack,” groaned Miller. Relief filled Monty at the sound of his voice. His head thumped back against the headrest, copying Miller’s position. He wasn’t religious, but he thanked God and Jesus and the Holy Ghost at that moment that the accident hadn’t been worse. His heart was slowing down and the adrenaline was dissipating, but that just meant the pain he was in became clearer. His head was pounding from a combination of fear and being thrown around. His shoulder must have slammed against the window when they were careening around on wet asphalt. He must have bit his tongue, too, because it felt swollen and the warm liquid that must have been blood was seeping down his throat. He groaned a little. 

Miller must have realized their hands were still interlocked because he shook them apart, struggling to unbuckle his seatbelt. Monty frowned, saddened by the sudden loss of warmth and comfort. He tucked his hand in toward his chest and asked, “What are you doing?”

“We have to get out of the car.”

“What?” Monty asked in disbelief. “It’s pitch black out there! We could get hit!”

“We could get hit anyway, sitting in here. We need to get off the road.”

“But there’s no cover. You want to just stand in the rain?”

“Monty,” said Miller forcefully. “We can’t just sit in the middle of oncoming traffic. We need to call a tow truck and get somewhere dry. Please just listen to me, okay?” Monty felt a little like a scolded child but he obeyed, taking off his seatbelt, too, albeit with a pout. 

The rain soaked through their clothes instantly as they got out of the van. They dashed across the four lanes of the highway, pausing if a car looked like it was coming too fast to avoid, reminding Monty of a game of Frogger. Miller had lifted his thin jacket over his head for even the smallest bit of protection. Monty wasn’t so lucky, forgetting his in the car, and the water fell into his eyes, sticking his eyelashes together. He was freezing, shivering so hard his teeth clacked together. As Miller whipped out his phone and called AAA, Monty wrapped his arms around himself, scrunching up his toes as wetness seeped into his socks. 

Looking back at the vehicle, Monty was surprised they had gotten out relatively unscathed. The entire front bumper was crumpled in on itself, the hood gaping open like a mouth stuck in a scream. Monty sighed internally, wondering if the car was even going to be fixed in time for him to head back to work.

Miller hung up the phone after a few minutes, exhaling loudly. “They say they know whereabouts we might be, but it might take them a while to get here,” Miller said, raising his voice over the sounds of the storm to be heard. Monty nodded, shaking his matted bangs out of his face. Miller squinted at him, tilting his head. “You cold or something?”

Monty thought it should me glaringly obvious that he was cold, freezing in fact, since he was standing in the middle of a downpour in nothing but a t-shirt and jeans, but instead of voicing that out loud, he just said, “No.” Nonetheless, the chattering of his teeth gave him away. He scowled, hugging his arms tighter around himself. Miller was probably feeling smug about having a jacket when he didn’t, laughing to himself as he watched Monty shake and shiver.

What he didn’t expect was for Miller to step closer until they were breathing each other’s air, bringing the jacket to cover both of their heads. Monty froze, looking up into Miller’s deep brown eyes. He didn’t think he’d ever been that close to Miller before, not enough to see the flecks of gold and green in his irises or to see how perfectly straight and white his teeth were. The warmth radiating off his body felt so nice, and Monty felt himself leaning closer to it, bumping their chests together. Miller looked a little surprised but didn’t pull away.

Miller’s hot breath on Monty’s face was making him a little dizzy. Miller’s smell was completely enveloping them. It blocked out the stench of wet asphalt and car exhaust, replacing it with a heady mixture of leather, sweat, and verbena. It made Monty’s head swim pleasantly, so much so that he wanted to lean forward and bury his nose in Miller’s neck. No matter how embarrassing the thought, he couldn’t shake the desire, even murmuring to himself, “Smells good.”

“What?” asked Miller, cutely scrunching his forehead.

Monty, broken from his reverie, jumped backwards so fast he almost tripped, but managed to save himself from the moment by spotting the incoming tow truck and shouting, “Finally!”

____________________________________

It took about 30 minutes in all for the car to be towed. The man who arrived on the scene leapt out of the truck the second he parked, ushering them forward. “Get in, get in!” he yelled over the roar of the rain. Neither of them hesitated, stepping up into cab. 

Monty was instantly flooded with relief when he was inside. The heater was on full blast. It was a little dirty in the truck, fast food wrappers scattered over the stained seats, but it was dry and Monty felt his body slowly relax. He hadn’t realized how tense he was before, or how exhausted he was. Leaning back onto the headrest, he exhaled slowly. 

Once the truck driver had hooked the car to the bed of the truck, he hopped in alongside them. Monty had to scoot closer to Miller, who was pushed up against the window, to accommodate him. Their thighs lined up, wet denim pressed against wet denim. Monty wondered at how warm Miller was, even though his jeans were freezing cold and plastered to his legs. He wanted to wrap his arms around him and soak up the heat like he was sitting in front of a fireplace.

Monty nearly slapped himself. He was having too many longing thoughts about someone who seemed to not even want to be on the trip with him in the first place. He needed to stop. Bad Monty.

The tow truck driver turned the radio on to the local country station, letting the music fill up the silence. The twang of the banjo was giving Monty more of a headache than he already had. He reached his hands up to rub at his temples, but in doing so had to brush his fingers along the sleeve of Miller’s shirt. It sent thrills up his spine just to touch a small part of Miller, making him shiver in a way that had him clearing his throat in embarrassment. Headache forgotten, he folded his hands in his lap, casting his eyes down too fast to see the quizzical look Miller gave him.

They crawled along the tree-lined highway for ten minutes before they reached the nearest mechanic. It was the first building off the exit they took, squat and old, surrounded by nothing but trees and a Burger King in the distance. 

Getting out of the truck, Monty and Miller dashed out of the car and into the building as two mechanics rushed out to help unload the totaled car. When they stepped inside, they were greeted with the smell of coffee and the quiet drone of a TV turned to a talk show. There were four other people in the waiting room, which was surprising given their remote location. They were all slumped over in ratty chairs, looking as miserable as Monty felt.

“Can I help you?” a man piped up from behind the waiting room’s counter.

“Yeah,” said Monty as he approached the counter. “We just got into an accident on the highway, slammed into a guardrail.”

“That yours?” asked the man, pointing out to where the Toyota was being unhooked from the tow truck. 

“Yeah,” Monty lamented. “Do you know how long it would take to fix? We’re on a road trip, and we kind of need a car for that.” 

The man, ‘Tristan’ his name tag said, leaned forward on his elbows, a contemplative look on his face. “Well, here’s the deal. We’re already working on a car for these folks,” he said, gesturing to the four exhausted people sprawled out around the room, “who got into an accident pretty similar to yours. It might take us a while to get to looking at your vehicle.” Monty and Miller groaned in tandem. “And since it’s looking nasty outside, and there’s nowhere else to go, I think you should let one of my employees drive you to the local motel for the night.”

Monty raked his hands down his face, but nodded. “Okay. Sure. Might as well.” 

They grabbed their bags from the back of the car once it was settled in the garage. Monty made sure to grab the plastic bag of granola bars and water bottles, not wanting to try and find somewhere to eat dinner. The same man that had driven them to the mechanics, drove them to the aforementioned motel. It was a rundown Super 8 with a packed parking lot. Seemed like other travelers had the same idea, to take shelter from the storm in the dilapidated lodge. 

Miller and Monty waved goodbye to their driving after hopping out of the truck’s cab, yelling sincere thank-you’s as he drove away. The rain shower was slowing down, not enough to stand comfortably in but enough that they jogged to the front door of the Super 8 instead of sprinting. Inside, people were laid out on the couches provided, waiting for their rooms to be ready. Monty surmised that the little hotel hadn’t had that much business in a while. 

The lobby smelled musty, like it needed to be vacuumed. Its carpeted was a faded marron, walls a dirty beige. The woman standing at the desk looked bored as the approached her. “Welcome to Super 8,” she said in a monotone, “how can I be of service?”

“Um, we’re looking for a room,” Monty mumbled. ‘I hadn’t guessed’ said the look on the lady’s face. She typed something into the computer in front of her, long nails clacking on the keyboard. 

“You’ll have to wait a bit, the remaining rooms are still being prepared for our guests.” Her eyes roamed around the room, obviously irked to be dealing with so many people. “You’re welcome to take a seat while you wait,” she said, gesturing at the full lobby. “What was your name again?”

After giving her his name, Monty went to find Miller, who had already sat down. He wasn’t hard to spot with his old gray beanie perched on his head. He was on a long couch packed with three other people. He was staring, dead-eyed, at the ceiling, his bag perched on the tops of his feet. He looked exhausted. There was a sliver of space next to him, just big enough for Monty to slip into. He wasn’t keen on being smushed against a stranger, but he was so tired he minded less and less as the seconds passed.

He put his bags down gently on the floor so as not to disturb the overall quiet of the room, and tried not to jostle Miller or the stranger on his right as he sat. The couch was old, and the springs groaned as the overloaded cushions took even more weight, dust flying up in a flurry. Monty settled back, wondering how long it would take to get all of the guests their rooms.

He must have dozed off at some point, because when someone called out ‘Mr. Green?’ he had to pry his eyes open. They felt sticky and itchy. His head was resting on something solid and warm. Glancing upwards, he met a pair of half-shut eyes gazing at him sleepily. 

Monty shot up so fast he threw his balance off and toppled over backwards. Thankfully, whoever he had been sitting next to besides Miller had left, so he landed on his back with his legs up near his chest. Miller kept staring, looking down at him with a hard-to-read look on his face. 

“Mr. Green?” the voice called out again. This time Monty hauled himself off the couch, trying not to run to the front desk, ducking his head to hide his blush. The woman standing behind the counter hadn’t been there before, and was considerably more cheerful. “Here’s your room key!” she said with a smile, “Room 106.” He nodded, thanking her sheepishly. As he turned around, he nearly ran into Miller’s chest. 

“Here,” Miller said, handing Monty his suitcase and bag of snacks. “You forgot these.” The same look was on his face, stoic and unreadable. Monty just averted his eyes and led the way to their room.

Their room was on the first floor, which was good, because Monty didn’t feel like walking up any stairs. It was relatively close to the office, just a few doors away. Monty stuck the key in the lock and the door swung open, and he immediately felt like screaming.

The room was subpar, grimy and small. The door to their right led into the bathroom, with a toilet so low to the ground it would fit in at an elementary school, and the door on the left opened into a closet that was too small to even hide in. There was a desk off to one side that looked like it had been attacked by a pack of dogs. A tube television from the 90’s sat in an armoire that was sagging dangerously. A stained armchair leaking foam was posed near the window.

But possibly worst of all was the queen bed situated in the middle of the room. Bed, singular.

“Uh,” said Miller behind him. “Did you not ask for a two-bed room?”

“I completely forgot- I…” he trailed off, not bothering to finish his sentence. He was just so done. This was turning out to be the worst vacation he’d ever been on, even worse than that time his parents had dragged him to visit family in Seoul and they had gotten stuck in the airport for two days because of a snowstorm. At least at the airport they had junk food and books. 

The worst part of his predicament was the awkward interactions with Miller. When Miller had called him to offer to go on the trip with him, Monty had hoped for the tiniest of seconds that they might grow closer. They had never been buddies, but Monty chalked that up to Miller’s strong-and-silent nature and Monty’s own shyness around people he liked. But he thought maybe, since they were going to be forced to spend hours in each other’s company in a very small space, they could bond or something.  
It wasn’t turning out that way. Not that anything ever turned out the way Monty wanted. 

Monty slipped his shoes off by the door out of habit, dropping his bags on the floor in defeat. Miller must have sensed his bad mood because he didn’t say anything, not even to scold Monty, just shrugged by him to open up the curtains covering the window.  
Monty took the only other clean outfit he’d brought out of his bag, trudging sullenly to the bathroom. The shower was passable, small enough to be uncomfortable but with decent water pressure for a motel. He lathered the provided shampoo into his hair, which was matted and stiff from the rain. The warm water trickled over his tense shoulder comfortingly. He almost felt like crying, but couldn’t muster the energy to. 

Once he was clean, he stepped onto the cold tile floor and toweled himself off. He could hear Miller on the phone with Lincoln through the door (‘you did what to my car?!’) and silently thanked Miller for not involving him in what sounded like a stressful phone call. 

Stepping out of the steamy bathroom, he heard that Miller was now on the phone with Clarke. She sounded very upset, like the mama bear she was, frantically saying ‘what happened’ over and over again.

Monty padded up beside Miller, who cleared his throat to interrupt Clarke. “Monty’s here,” he informed her, and she turned her smothering attention to Monty.

“Monty! Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“No,” he said, combing his fingers through his wet hair to get any knots out. “I’m fine. We’re both fine. It was only a minor accident.”

“Minor?” she shrieked. “Lincoln told me his car is wrecked! Miller said you guys couldn’t even drive it to the mechanics! Did you guys go to the hospital yet?”

“No,” said Monty again. “We’re not going to the hospital, Clarke. Neither of us is even bleeding. We’re _fine_.”

“Just because you can’t see any injuries doesn’t mean they aren’t there! You could have internal bleeding and you wouldn’t even know it until it’s too late! You two should-“

“Clarke!” Monty snapped before he could stop himself. She went silent. He winced at his own harsh tone and took a deep breath before continuing. “Clarke, we’re both really tired and it’s been a hell of a day. I want to relax and watch TV and not be grilled right now. Okay?”

Clarke was quiet for a second, before hesitantly asking, “You’re sure you’re both fine?” She still sounded concerned, but she seemed to be reining in her inner mother hen.  
“Yeah, Clarke. We are,” Miller said for Monty, rubbing the palm of his free hand into his eyes.

“Alright,” she said after a few more quiet moments. “You two should get some sleep. I guess I’ll talk to you later. Call me if you need _anything_ , though. Literally anything.”

“ _Goodbye_ , Clarke. Love you,” said Monty, feeling a rush of affection for his overprotective friend even as he wanted to make her shut up.

“Love you!” Clarke managed to say just before Miller cut off the call. He sat back in the chair, exhaling. Monty grabbed the TV remote before flopping into the middle of the bed. He motioned with his foot in the general direction of the bathroom.

“Your turn,” he said to Miller as he switched the TV on. Miller grunted wordlessly, walking over to his discarded bag and rummaging through it as Monty flipped through channels. It was a shitty motel, so it was no surprise that there was nothing interesting on and the reception was terrible. There were cartoons, however, and Monty even managed to find _The Spongebob Squarepants Movie_ playing on Nickelodeon. He couldn’t believe it had been eleven years since it had come out. It felt like he hadn’t watched it in forever, so he lay back on the pile of pillows the bed provided and tuned in. 

Maybe it was the lull of a familiar movie or the stress relief of just laying back and doing nothing, but Monty found himself falling asleep for the second time that day. He dreamed of being on the beach in Florida, running in slow motion like he was on Baywatch. The sun sparkled on the water and he was wearing a pair of Captain America swim trunks. There was a figure in the distance, getting larger as it ran toward him. He felt himself running toward them, too, arms outstretched to welcome them. As they got closer to meeting in the middle, he recognized the beanie sitting snug atop the other’s head. Oh. Miller. He had a brief moment to wonder why Miller was fully dressed at the beach before they were throwing themselves into each other’s arms, their mouths meeting passionately-

Monty was pulled from sleep by the grating sound of a laugh track. He blinked up at the ceiling, clenching and unclenching his fist around the remote control he was still holding as he drifted off. His mouth was dry and a nasty taste clung to his tongue. He spared a glance forward and saw that _The Spongebob Squarepants Movie_ wasn’t on anymore; an episode of Full House has replaced it, and one of the Olsen twins was stomping around, underscored by the depressing noise of canned laughter. 

He let his head fall to the side, to see Miller, still sitting in the armchair and staring straight at him. “Oh, uh…” he stuttered, a little embarrassed. He thought back to what he had just been dreaming about and prayed to anyone that would listen that he hadn’t accidentally mumbled Miller’s name in his sleep, at least not audibly. When Miller saw that Monty has noticed him, he quickly looked away, his face blank. “How long was I asleep?” Monty asked, forcing himself into a sitting position and rubbing at his sleep-crusted eyes.

“Pretty long,” mused Miller. “Like four hours.”

Monty groaned for the umpteenth time that day, wishing he hadn’t woken up in the first place. His body was heavy like lead and his head felt like there was a cinderblock sitting on it. His stomach was also empty and complaining, he noticed. He didn’t think a granola bar would be enough to last until morning, but it wasn’t not like they had anything else to eat, so he heaved himself out of bed to get the bag of snacks he’d left on the floor. He ate an entire bar in under a minute, and then another, then chugged a whole bottle of water. No wonder; it was only the second time he’d eaten that day and his low blood sugar was just making him more tired.

He offered the bag to Miller, who took it gladly and polished off three bars consecutively, along with two water bottles. Monty marveled at the speed with which he could stuff them into his mouth, thinking that Miller should get into competitive eating. 

After their pathetic meal, Monty changed the channel to a rerun of _Law & Order: Criminal Intent_ and they watched together in silence. He lost track of how many episodes they watched but before long, it was dark outside. It had stopped raining a few hours before, and the moon shined brightly, unobscured by any dark clouds. Miller got up briefly to close the curtains, returning to slump even farther back in his seat. 

Once the time on his phone hit 11:30, Monty decided it was bed time. He got up off the bed, blocking the TV so he had Miller’s attention. “Hey,” he said. “I’m going to bed. Since I hogged the bed, I’m going to sleep on the floor tonight, to be fair.” 

Monty started extracting the duvet from the sheets underneath so he’d have something to lay on and maybe even be comfortable on the dirty floor (though it isn’t likely), when Miller huffed out, “What the fuck? No.” Monty’s head whipped up, forehead creasing in confusion. “Don’t be immature, Monty, we can share.” He got up out of his chair to put a hand down on the quilt, stopping Monty from taking it off.

“Are you- are you sure?” Monty spluttered, a little taken aback. Miller was a standoffish person, not the type Monty would have guessed would be okay with sleeping next to someone.

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” Miller asked, smiling at Monty for the first time that day. Monty felt his heart melt a little bit, and was reminded why he has a gigantic crush on Miller. 

“Of course we are,” he said, mostly to himself. Miller was already taking his phone out of his pocket and putting it on the desk. “I mean…I’m cool with it if you are,” he mumbled. He folded back the three layers of covers – a little excessive in his opinion – and divided the pillows between the two sides of the bed. “Which side do you want?” he asked Miller tentatively. Miller turned from where he was shuffling to the light switch and shrugged. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt with basketball shorts and socks on his feet. He looked cute, and Monty pushed away the happy domestic thoughts that had no place in his brain. 

Since he usually slept on the right side of the bed, he slid in on that side. He covered himself with only one sheet; he hated being hot and sweaty when he slept. Settling in on his side, he grabbed his pillow, smushing it to plump it up. He thrashed around, trying to find a comfortable position. 

Once the lights were out, Miller had to navigate his way back to the bed with nothing to guide him but the glow of alarm clock. Monty heard him stumble a few times, and when Miller knocked his shins into the side of the bed and grunted in pain, Monty had to bite back a grin.

Miller got into bed beside Monty carefully. Since it was dark and Monty was facing away from him, he couldn’t see Miller but he could feel him. He was warm, like a space heater. He was heavier than Monty, had more muscle, and his weight made the mattress dip. Monty felt gravity pulling him down toward Miller but he shifted so they wouldn’t slide together into the middle of the bed. His heart had sped up and thin layer of sweat was coating his back. 

It had been a long time since Monty had had a boyfriend. A long time since he had even been kissed. His last relationship had not ended well, and he had wanted to wait and let his heart heal before seeing someone else. He had ended up waiting over two years, and now the close contact was making him ache in a way he hadn’t for a while. He wanted to snuggle close to Miller but run away at the same time. 

Miller stopped moving around, and from the feeling of hot breath against the back of his neck, Monty reckoned Miller was facing him. The silence felt too thick in the darkness, ringing in Monty’s ears. He wondered if he should say something just to make noise, and Miller obviously had the same idea because he whispered to Monty’s back, “Hey, Monty?”

Something in Miller’s tone made Monty’s heart beat even faster. Monty cleared his throat and responded with a raspy, “Yeah?”

It was quiet, like he was building up the courage to say something, and then, “Never mind. Good night.”

“Night,” Monty wished him back, and ignored the twinge of disappointment he felt. They lay together, quietly inhaling and exhaling, drifting off to the sound of the other’s breathing.  
___________________________________

Consciousness slowly took hold of Monty, and he regretfully let it. He hadn’t dreamt of anything while he was sleeping, which was the best way to sleep. He felt cozy and warm, his body pleasantly heavy from slumber. It was also heavy because someone was draped over his back, their face nestled into his hair. Monty couldn’t contain the contented sigh that puffed through his lips. The arm around his waist felt right.

Miller was snoring softly, fingers clenching and unclenching on Monty’s stomach. Monty was glad Miller was still asleep so that he could enjoy the moment of closeness without fearing any awkwardness between them. He let Miller’s warm breath tickle his neck and soaked in the warmth across his back. He thought about what it would be like to wake up to this every morning, feeling safe and comfortable. 

He didn’t know how long he lay there, just basking in Miller’s presence, but he didn’t notice when Miller began to stir. The snuffling in his hair wasn’t very different from the snoring, and the shifting could easily have been in his sleep. But he knew Miller was awake when he felt the arm around him tense and the gusts of air on his nape stopped. Monty felt himself freeze up, too, feeling little jolts of guilt and embarrassment shoot through him at how much he liked being in Miller’s embrace. He prayed that Miller wouldn’t know he was also awake, but when Miller sat up suddenly, he didn’t have time to squeeze his eyes shut and pretend to be sleeping. 

They stared at each other for a few seconds, Miller with eyes wide like plates and Monty with a flush of shame reddening his cheeks, before Miller was jumping out of the bed, dusting himself off and turning his back to Monty. Monty couldn’t help the hurt blooming in his chest. Was it that terrible to wake up next to him?

Miller recovered quickly, walking over to his bag to get his now almost-dry jeans, saying a gruff ‘Morning’ to Monty before ducking into the bathroom. Once Miller had shut the door, Monty fell back onto the bed, throwing an arm over his face. The whole situation between them was getting worse and worse. Did Miller realize that Monty had enjoyed their snuggle session? Was he in the bathroom, wanting to wash off the feeling of Monty from his skin?

Eventually, he dragged himself over to his own bag, pulling on his damp pants. They stuck to his legs uncomfortably, but he was too lazy to think about fishing around for another pair and he didn’t want to walk around in pajamas. He took his comb out and stood in front of the floor-length mirror the room provided, attempting to flatten his hair into submission. This was why he didn’t sleep on wet hair. He saw he had a few texts from his other worried friends, and sent off reassuring responses. He had one from Jasper, too, but he ignored it.

Miller left the bathroom, not meeting Monty’s eyes. He stuffed his sleep shorts into his backpack, then walked over to the desk where he had left his phone. As Monty brushed his teeth and packed up his things, Miller sat on the edge of the bed, eyes glued to the screen.

“Ready?” asked Monty, voice with no hint of emotion. “I’m hungry and I want to find somewhere to eat.”

“Sure,” said Miller, same lack of inflection in his voice. They left the room with their bags and head to the lobby.

It was deserted when they got there except for the receptionist, the one that had been there when they had first arrived. She didn’t seem as aggravated as she had when they first spoke, but she isn’t any warmer. Simply nodding to them, she said, “Ready to check out?” Monty nodded and paid, a small enough amount considering the room they’d stayed in. 

As she was getting him his change, he asked her, “Is there somewhere we can eat breakfast around here? Besides Burger King,” he added.

She nodded, pointing toward the front door and then to the right. “Just drive half a mile that way and there’s a Waffle House.” Handing him his money, she told him, “Their coffee is shit, though.” He thanked her and stuffed the bills in his pocket, and then he and Miller were out the door.

They walked along the side of the road, looking at their surroundings. The exit was pretty deserted, although Monty saw a few driveways leading from the road to some secluded houses. The sky was brighter than it had been the day before, but still cloudy and gray. The ground squished under their shoes, the sun not out long enough to evaporate the rainfall. The air smelled of wet earth, a welcome change from the musty motel. It was peaceful, the quiet interrupted only by the chirps of birds. A few cars passed by them.

Soon, the Waffle House sign was looming ahead of them. Monty felt his stomach gurgle and he patted it, as if to tell it, _food is coming!_ The smell of grease met them as they crossed the pocked parking lot to the entrance. When Monty opened the door for Miller, the aroma of coffee washed over them. It made Monty’s mouth water. Miller didn’t say thank you to Monty for holding the door open, not that Monty expected him to.

A hostess led them to their table. It was a sticky, secluded booth nestled next to a jukebox that was playing Jailhouse Rock softly. Monty was glad he carried around a few quarters in his pockets, so he could feed them into the machine and listen to music while they ate. Their waiter came by to take their orders, and Monty asked for coffee despite what the motel receptionist had told him, with a plate of waffles. Miller wanted a water with eggs and bacon.

After the waiter left, Miller immediately pulled out his phone. Monty was left staring at him in bewilderment. He didn’t even have the decency to make conversation while they waited for their food. Monty wasn’t the ‘blah technology is ruining our society blah’ types, but he had been raised to believe that ignoring someone at a meal was rude.

Monty didn’t like conflict but he also wasn’t someone who could easily hide his feelings; he was passive aggressive at heart and it showed. When their food and drinks came, he started immediately sawing at his waffle, forcefully stabbing at it with his fork. Miller seemed content to ignore him for the first few minutes, but when Monty’s utensils collided hard enough with the ceramic plate to make a _ping_ sound ring out, he lifted his eyes up to stare. 

“What did that waffle ever do to you?” he asked Monty with a mouthful of bacon.

“It isn’t the waffle that did something to me,” he muttered just loud enough for Miller to hear. Miller narrowed his eyes, keeping them on Monty as he continued to eat. Monty chugged his coffee in between bites of food, not caring that it burned his tongue. When he slammed the cup down empty, it seemed to get on Miller’s last nerve.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked Monty.

Monty finally felt the floodgates break at the surly tone of Miller’s voice. “What’s wrong with me? I should be asking you that question. Do we have a problem?”

“Do we?” shot Miller back at him, seemingly just as mad as Monty.

“I should think so. You’ve been nothing but an ass to me the whole time we’ve been on the road! You barely look at me or speak to me. You’ve spent the whole time with your eyes on your phone. You seem like you don’t even want to be on this trip.” Miller said nothing, so he continued. “Why did you even come if you didn’t want to? What’s so terrible about having to be in the same space as me?” He flinched at the way his voice cracked.

Miller’s eyes were downcast, looking anywhere but Monty. They both stayed quiet and after a few moments, both returned to eating. Monty felt all of the anger drain from his body. It hurt, to think that the person you liked couldn’t even spare a glance for you. He wished he had just canceled the trip altogether. He ate his waffle sadly.

Miller cleared his throat after a while, but Monty refused to acknowledge it. He did it a few more times, louder each time, until Monty gave up and looked at him. Miller was staring at him, looking timid and contrite. It wasn’t a face Monty had ever seen on him before, so he turned his attention to him.

Miller’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he said, “Monty, I…” Rubbing a hand shyly over his head, he continued, “You’ve got it completely wrong. There’s nothing terrible about being in the same space as you, or spending time with you. I… like spending time with you. I like you a lot, actually. I think you’re cool, and fun, and really nice. I’m really sorry if I’ve been rude or made you feel like I don’t like you. It’s just…” Miller looked incredibly uncomfortable, and Monty wanted to stop him, tell him it was okay, but he soldiered on. “I’ve been having a lot of trouble at home lately. Things have sucked recently, and I’ve been stressed out like you wouldn’t believe. I really needed to be anywhere but D.C., which is why I called you to see if you still wanted to drive to Miami. I didn’t know I was being such a jerk, but I wasn’t doing it on purpose. Because I like you. Like I said. Already.” He ended his speech with a big gulp of ice water. 

Monty didn’t know how to describe the feeling that came after what Miller had said, but it lit up his whole body like a spotlight. It was like a mixture of happiness, relief, shame, and a renewed sense of ‘whoa, I’m totally into this guy,’ which was horrible because Monty was in deep enough. Unable to process this feeling and to communicate to Miller that he understood and he was sorry for blowing things out of proportion, he managed to only say, “Oh.”

It was a pathetic attempt, and it didn’t seem to console Miller at all, whose head was bent over his food, face flushed red. So Monty lifted his hand and brought it down a few times on Miller’s in an awkward semblance of a pat. Miller looked up at him with big, questioning puppy eyes, and Monty smiled. They both went back to eating, not sure what to say.

Once they were done eating, they paid and left, the jukebox forgotten. Miller held the door open for Monty this time, and Monty thanked him happily. That had been the most cringeworthy meal Monty had ever sat through, but it had cleared things up which was the best thing that could have happened. Remembering what Miller said, Monty turned to him and said, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Miller looked surprised and said, “You mean, what just happened back there?”

“Well, sort of. What you said about being stressed out and needing to get out of D.C.”

“Oh.” Miller’s face fell, and Monty imagined whatever was going on with him must be bad. Miller rubbed at his head again nervously; it was funny that the longer Monty spent around him, the more of his habits he picked up on. “Is it okay if I don’t?”

“Yeah, sure. I don’t want to pressure you.” If it had been anyone else at any other time, Monty probably would have prodded them for the answer – he was of the mind that talking things out was the only way to make things better – but whatever bridge they were building was flimsy, and Monty didn’t want to scare Miller off by being nosy. Miller nodded thankfully to him, and they headed in the direction of the mechanic.

_______________________________________

“Sorry, boys, but there’s no way we’ll be able to fix your car in under a week.”

Monty and Miller stood in front of the front desk in the lobby of the garage. Monty rubbed his hands over his face as Miller stood with his head hung. “This is such a disaster,” said Monty, mostly to himself. 

“I’m real sorry,” said Tristan. “We’re already working on a few other cars that had similar accidents, and we need to order the parts online since your car’s older. I wish I could give you better news, but,” he shrugged, “that’s the way it is.” At least he looked genuinely regretful. 

“What are we supposed to do?” said Monty to Miller. “We’re in the middle of nowhere and we have no car and no way to get home _or_ to Miami. I have to be at work by next Wednesday.” He sighed, not knowing why he was asking Miller what to do when he was just as lost as Monty was. He walked over to a chair and sat down, too weary and depressed to feel like standing. 

“We could ask someone to come pick us up,” offered Miller. “I know it’s not ideal but at least we’d be home.”

Monty didn’t say anything. Miller and he shuffled around, unsure of what to do, mulling over their predicament.

“You know,” said Tristan, “I have a crappy old van that’s been sitting behind the building for a few months. The owner sold it to me for way cheap. It’s old and ugly as hell but it drives well.”

“Okay…” said Miller. “Why are you telling us this?”

“Well, since it’s just sitting back there, not making me any money, I’d be willing to sell it for a reasonable price.”

“How reasonable?” asked Miller.

“Couple thousand?” Tristan mused.

Monty huffed a laugh. “That’s, uh, that’s nice of you but there’s no way we can afford that. We’re both in college and barely had enough money to go on a vacation, let alone buy a van. But thank you.”

Tristan nodded, twisting his mouth to the side. He thought for a moment, then said, “How about this? I rent it to you. That way I still make some money and you guys can continue your trip.”

Miller looked incredulous as he said, “Seriously? You don’t even know us. We could just drive off and never bring it back.”

“I know,” said Tristan, “but you two seem like swell guys, and it always feels good to help people in need. Plus, I’m tired of looking at that rusty piece of shit.”

They worked out a price, a flat five hundred dollars for the whole time they had the van. It wasn’t a half-bad vehicle; a Chevy Van that was not as ancient as the Toyota but still pretty old, with paint chipping away in flakes and all of the back seats torn out. It started, though, which was the important thing. They threw their bags in and before they left, got Lincoln in touch with Tristan. Lincoln was still pissed, but Monty swore up and down that he would pay for the damage they’d done. It didn’t seem to appease him much but he acquiesced and called Tristan after they hung up.

They were back on the highway before ten. They had lost a lot of time, but what was important was that they were on the road again. Monty was behind the wheel, getting used to the way the van drove. Miller was next to him in the passenger seat.

As they first started to drive, Miller pulled out his phone (shocker). Monty didn’t want to feel disappointed; he thought things were going to change. But then Miller seemed to make up his mind and turned the phone off altogether. Monty faced his side window to hide his smile. 

“So,” Miller began, “you said you wanted to be a pharmacist?”

This set off a long conversation between them, the longest they’d ever had. They didn’t talk much to each other in normal circumstances, so it was like meeting each other for the first time. Monty told Miller about how his father was a doctor in San Francisco and had instilled in from a young age the desire to help people be healthy and well; how his dad had let him spend time at his office when he wasn’t at school, and he had seen firsthand people go from sick and miserable to bright and smiling because of a pill; how it had ignited his interest in pharmaceuticals, in finding the right chemical compound to improve someone’s quality of life. 

As they continued talking, they moved on to a wide range of subjects: about their classes, how Miller had just finished taking English Composition and never wanted to write another essay in his life; about their favorite TV shows, how much they both loved _Spongebob Squarepants_ and missed _Catdog_ ; about sports, how Monty had played soccer when he was younger and had a ball kicked so hard at his head that it knocked him unconscious. Time flew by as they talked, and Monty felt his mood lift even more.

Before they knew it, they had been talking for two hours about nothing in particular. Both were smiling and laughing with each other. Miller pulled out a water bottle for them both, opening his and drinking half in one go. As he put it down in his cup holder, he reached out for a CD in a cheap plastic case sitting in between their seats. “What’s this?” he asked Monty, turning it over in his hands.

Monty felt himself flush. He had forgotten to hide the disc after he’d taken it out of the wrecked car. It was a blank CD with ‘Road Trip Mix!’ and a smiley face written across it in Sharpie. “Um, it’s nothing,” he stuttered.

Miller grinned at him. “Did you make this?” he asked Monty. 

“Uh…” Monty could feel himself getting redder. “Yeah, I did. Is that weird?”

“What? No! Of course not. Why would it be weird for you to make a mixtape?”

“I just, I don’t know. I didn’t want you to think I was being overeager about the trip.” Which he was, but he wasn’t going to say that.

“Why not? It’s cute that you’re earnest. That’s one of the things I like about you,” said Miller. Monty was too absorbed in the fact that Miller had just called him cute to see Miller blush and rub at the top of his head. 

Miller pushed the CD into the player and turned up the volume. Monty had tried to stick to a theme, and the songs ranged from _A Thousand Miles_ by Vanessa Carlton to _I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)_ by The Proclaimers. They started off just bopping to the beat, but escalated to singing at the top of their lungs, beaming at each other and dancing dramatically. Monty could feel himself getting hoarse but couldn’t care less.

The CD came to an end too soon, and both of the boys were left breathless, giggling and shooting each other looks. It wasn’t until Miller’s stomach gurgled that Monty broke the mood and said, “We should get something to eat.” Miller nodded in agreement and they began looking at exit signs to see what their choices of restaurants were.

Monty was looking for a Steak and Shake when he spotted a billboard that made a lightbulb go off in his head. “Oh my God. Miller.” He pointed it out and Miller narrowed his eyes.

“Don’t tell me you want to go to a waterpark while we’re on a road trip.”

“You don’t? When was the last time you went to a waterpark?” he asked. Miller looked like he was thinking about it but couldn’t find the answer. “Please? It will be so much fun!” 

Miller wrinkled his nose and Monty feared he had gotten ahead of himself when Miller sighed. “Okay. As long as we can eat lunch there.”

The park was jam-packed with people, families with kids and young adults looking for a stress-relieving day in the water. They payed forty dollars each for an all-day pass and bought a locker to keep their clothes in while they swam. It was hot and humid out, the heat not dampened by the recent string of storms.

Monty pulled Miller to the tallest slide right away. Miller tried to beg off, saying heights made him nervous, but Monty assured him it was completely safe and he would be right next to him the whole time. Miller smiled and rolled his eyes, but agreed.  
They went down every slide in the park, butts chafing from the plastic. When it was a group slide, Miller sat Monty down in front of him, nearly on his lap. Monty ducked his chin to his neck to hide his manic smile and was focused more on the feelings of Miller’s arms wrapped around him as they slid down then he did on the ride itself. Monty watched Miller’s face the whole time they were going on the candy-striped rides, enjoying the way his face lit up with childlike joy.

After they has spent a good chunk of time on the slides, they decided to relax in the wave pool. It was overcrowded, but they found a clear spot near one of the rock-like walls of the pool. The water was lukewarm. The bottom of the pool was rubbery and sky-blue. 

They stood side by side, the water in their area not deep enough for them to need to paddle their feet. Monty was feeling relaxed when the waves started, a loud whoomp sound followed by the rise and fall of the water. Wave after wave washed over them, and Monty found himself panicking a little. Miller loved it, though, bouncing up and down with the ripple of the water.

After the waves had stopped, Miller tugged on Monty’s arm. “Come on, let’s go in farther.”

Monty shook his head vehemently. “No, let’s just stay here.”

“Why?” asked Miller.

Monty wrinkled his nose. “I’ve never been a very good swimmer,” he admitted. “The waves make me nervous.”

“Not a good swimmer?” Miller looked incredulous. “Didn’t you say you grew up in San Francisco?”

Monty chuckled bashfully. “Yeah, but when my family went to the beach I usually stayed in the shallow part of the water or sat on the sand and made sandcastles.” He shrugged at Miller’s raised eyebrow. “Sorry.”

“No problem. We can stay here.”

The next waves came in a few minutes. They were larger this time, and washed over Monty’s head. He spluttered around the water as it rushed into his nose and mouth. Coughing, he clutched onto Miller’s shoulders. “Hey, hey, hey,” said Miller soothingly. “I’ve got you. Here,” he said to Monty, “why don’t we just float for a bit?”

“Float?” asked Monty.

“Yeah. You know, float? On the water?” Monty shook his head. He almost never went into the ocean deeper than his thighs. “Wow, you’d think this is your first time in something deeper than a bathtub. I’ll show you.” Miller put his big hand on the crown of Monty’s head. “Lean back.” Monty complied, albeit reluctantly. As he went down, Miller’s other hand went to the small of Monty’s back. Miller’s rough hands on his skin set little flickers of electricity down his spine. 

Monty could feel the water taking his weight, the surface tension along with Miller’s hands keeping his body atop it. He felt light. Miller looked down at him, smiling, and he smiled back. The sun was behind Miller’s head, backlighting him, making him look like an angel. All of the noise around them from the other people at the waterpark faded away as their eyes locked. Monty felt his heart pick up speed, and was very aware of the hand on his back, now rubbing small circles with the pads of its fingers, and the one on his neck, cradling it gently. Miller looked down softly at him, a possible hint of affection in his eyes, although that could have been Monty’s imagination. Monty opened his mouth to say something (he wasn’t sure what) when the next set of waves came flooding through the pool. Monty shrieked as he was jostled out of Miller’s arms and thrown under water. 

He rose from the water, choking on the water sliding down his throat. Miller looked like the waves had taken him by surprise too, as he was shaking water out of his ears. Monty’s face must have been comically pitiful because Miller started laughing and dragging by the wrist toward shore, saying, “Let’s go eat.”

The waterpark’s snack bar was small, with two windows, one for ordering food and one for picking it up. Its menu was pasted above it, red bubble font on bright blue background. It was all junk food, tantalizing pictures of ice cream and hamburgers next to their listings on the board. The smell was heavenly, and Monty had to swallow down the mouthful of saliva in his mouth. The prices were high, but that was always the case in places like that.

Monty ordered a hot dog and a chocolate shake, Miller a piece of pizza and a cookies and cream shake. They sat out in the scorching sun at an umbrella-shaded café table with plastic chairs that burned the backs of their thighs. Both had forgotten how hungry they’d been, too intoxicated on chlorine fumes and adrenaline to notice the gnawing at their bellies. Monty chomped down on his hot dog, chewing happily, not minding the rubbery texture. Miller moaned around a mouthful of cheese-covered pizza, and Monty flushed at the sound but chuckled. “Who knew shitty fast food could be so satisfying,” he laughed. 

Miller nodded, closing his eyes to better appreciate the taste. “My blood sugar was getting so low I thought I was going to pass out.” 

Miller chewed thoughtfully for a bit, then spoke up. “Hey, Monty?” he asked.

“Yeah?” responded Monty around a mouthful of bun and sausage. 

“Earlier today, you were talking about how you thought I didn’t like you because of the way I was acting. Like I was being too distant.” Monty nodded. “I have to say, I’ve been thinking the same thing since Bellamy introduced us. We’ve known each other almost two years and you’ve never had more than a five minute conversation with me. I think the longest we talked before this was when we debated which Hogwarts house Clarke would be in.” Monty remembered; Miller had been sure she was a Gryffindor, but Monty insisted she was a Slytherin. It had gotten heated. “Also, we’ve never been in a room alone together. It seems like you specifically avoid me at parties. It felt like you didn’t like me.” He looked up at Monty from under his eyelashes at Monty. “Am I wrong?”

Monty was mortified. He thought he had been subtle, but it was obviously the opposite. He wanted to slap himself on the forehead, but refrained in favor of nearly spitting out his food in order to reassure Miller. “No. Well, yes, I mean. Yes, you’re wrong. I do like you. A lot. Like, a lot, a lot. Not in a- I mean.” He took a deep breath. “Wow, my brain is not working right now.”

Miller laughed, his shiny teeth showing and smears of sauce around his lips. He was gorgeous.

________________________________

They got back on the road as the sun was setting. It lit up the sky in pinks and oranges and lavenders. Miller turned his phone on to take a picture, then turned it right back off. Monty smiled.

They were both tired and warm from the sun, Miller’s head listing against his headrest. They went back to talking, the radio turned down low in the background. The subjects turned more personal; Miller talked about his first dog, how it had gotten cancer when it was only five years old and had to be put to sleep, and how he had never had another pet since; Monty talked about his older sister and the baby she’d had recently, that he was secretly guilty that he hadn’t been home to be there at his niece’s birth, and that he was afraid he would miss milestones that an uncle should be around for. 

Unconsciously, they gravitated closer to each other. Their shoulders were close to touching. Miller had put his hand on the median between their seats, and Monty placed his hand besides it, feeling brave. Every time their pinkies brushed, he gripped the steering wheel harder. 

After about four hours of driving, Monty was feeling a drowsiness that not even an intense talk could dispel. He felt his eyes getting heavy and his focus getting weak. Miller, who had been watching him, asked, “Why don’t we go get something to eat? Afterwards, we can switch and I can drive for a while.”

“Thank you,” Monty said, and they drove to the next exit. This one was more populated than the last they had visited; it was a town, the shops mostly small businesses with a few chain stores mixed in. It was bustling even at night, and Monty could hear music spilling out of the various restaurants along the street.

They parked behind a bar called The Black Rose that was squished in between a yogurt shop and a Subway. It was unassuming on the outside, where on the inside it was dim and smelled like piss and had a live cover band on a stage near the back of the room playing The Eagles too loud and off-key. It was decorated Americana style, and there were big neon signs on the walls that hurt Monty’s eyes. There weren’t many other patrons in the establishment, but those that were there congregated around the pool tables and the band.

They ordered their greasy bar food. Neither of them got alcohol. Monty could have if he really wanted to, but Miller wouldn’t be since he was next up to drive and Monty never really enjoyed drinking alone. They sat down at a booth, facing each other, but discovered it was too loud to hear themselves talk let alone another person, so Miller moved into Monty’s side of the booth. Their bodies lined up from shoulder to ankle, and maybe Monty should have shuffled farther into the booth to put some space between them, but he didn’t.

Their food came and they talked through bites. “What are you going to do first when we get to Miami?” asked Miller. 

“Oh man, I don’t know. I’d like to wait until night time and just drive around the city. I heard it’s beautiful at night, all vibrant and noisy and alive. Or maybe get an authentic Cuban sandwich.” Monty imagined that that was what he was biting into at that moment instead of a soggy nacho.

“That’s nice. Me, I’m running straight into the ocean.” He had a dreamy look on his face. “You know I’ve never actually been to the ocean? My family never had time. I wonder what it smells like.”

Monty tried to remember so he could describe it for him. “It’s like…salt and sunscreen and sweat, cigarette smoke and hot charcoal from a grill. And the sun is so hot you can almost smell the heat, too.” Monty missed that smell. He hadn’t been to the beach since he left for college. 

“I can’t wait,” is all Miller says, and then that dreamy look on his face is directed at Monty and all thoughts of the beach are erased, replaced with _Miller Miller Miller_. 

__________________________________

Even though they had only taken about a forty-five minute break to eat and use the bathroom, Monty was eager to get back on the road because he was itching to show Miller the ocean. If he looked that happy just thinking about it, Monty couldn’t imagine how he would react to being in front of the real thing. They walked back out the way they came, Miller’s eyes shifty, checking for potential muggers or whoever else likes to creep up on you in the dark. It looked clear, and they were almost to the van, when they heard a loud shriek like someone was being axe-murdered.

They both immediately jumped a foot in the air, Miller flinging the keys into the air. “What the fuck,” he swore, scrambling to pick them up off the ground. Monty was clinging to the handle of the passenger side door, hissing, “Open it,” at Miller. Miller got the key ready in the lock when the screech ripped through the air again. Miller hesitated and Monty could feel himself getting frantic. He started tugging on the door handle, chanting, ‘open it, open it!’ 

Miller looked at him with wide, frightened eyes. “What if someone needs our help?” he asked, and Monty wanted to beat his head against the window because _of course_ Miller would want to be a hero in a situation where they could be eaten by werewolves or turned into human sacrifices or whatever happened to young city slickers traveling through unfamiliar towns in the dead of night. Even as Monty shook his head, Miller was walking toward the sounds of distress. Monty reluctantly followed him, thinking that whatever Miller was getting himself into it, it would be better if Monty was there with him. 

The noise was coming from the alley between the bar and its neighboring Subway. Both Monty and Miller peeked around the corner, trying to gauge what was happening before they rushed in to help. The scene seemed innocent enough – there were two men gathered in the far right corner of the alley, beer bottles in hand, laughing amongst themselves. For all Monty knew, they could be taking a leak. But then one of them raised their foot back and launched it forward and a thunk sounded at them same time that another inhuman shriek disturbed the night. 

Miller’s shoulders tensed and he charged into the alley, Monty trailing after him confused until he was close enough to the men to see what they had been kicking at: a small, ugly cat with fur so matted it must have been hard for it to move. It was cowering against the brick wall, back raised and tail erect, making pitiful sounds of fear. Monty felt his mind go blank with rage.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Monty practically shouted at the two drunks. The whipped around, swaying from intoxication.

“Can I help you?” slurred one of the men. 

“Get away from that cat,” Miller rumbled, his body vibrating with anger.

“Aw, come off it, we were just relieving a little stress.” The man not talking started giggling, and aimed another kick toward the feline. Miller surged toward him. Both men took steps back, raising their glass bottles in defense. Monty clutched at Miller’s bicep. While Miller looked like he could handle himself in a fight, Monty certainly couldn’t, and he was not keen on getting his ass kicked that night.

“Miller, wait, this is not a good idea. Let’s just call the police or something.”

“Yeah, Miller, listen to your boyfriend,” sniggered one of the drunks. 

“Shut the fuck up,” snarled Miller, and the two men guffawed. The cat had taken their distraction to mean they were finished with their torture and tried darting past the four of them, but one of the drunks spotted it and lunged for it, grabbing a fistful of its fur as it whined in pain. This was enough to set Miller off and he jumped forward.

Miller pushed the man holding the cat onto his ass, aiming a kick at his shoulder. It connected hard and he yelled in pain. His companion swung a fist at Miller and hit him in the cheek. Miller grunted and shot his foot forward into the man’s groin. The man let out a high pitched squeak and clutched at the area. 

Monty was hopping from foot to foot in anxiety, wondering if he should jump in and help even if it meant getting himself beat up, when the man Miller had first kicked stood up and hit Miller in the head with his empty beer bottle so hard that it smashed into pieces. “Oh shit,” one of the drunks said.

Miller dropped like a dead weight. Both men rushed by Monty as he screamed. He rushed to Miller’s side, kneeling by his prone body. “Miller! Miller!” Monty yelled, slapping him across the face. It took a few seconds for Miller to come to, his eyes rolling around before focusing on Monty hovering above him.

“Ouch,” Miller said, before rolling over and vomiting up his dinner.

_____________________________________

Monty dragged Miller to the van, pulling his arm over his shoulder. He had scooped up the stray cat without thinking and clutched it to his chest with his free arm as they stumbled along. Once they were in the van, Monty peeled out of the parking lot, weaving as he checked his phone for the nearest hospital.

As they drove, Monty babbled at Miller worriedly. “Breathe, Miller, in and out, don’t move your head too much, does it hurt? How many fingers am I holding up? Breathe, Miller, take deep breaths.”

Miller grumbled, “I’m not in labor, Monty,” but breathed deeply anyway, listing to the side a little.

Monty had grabbed a towel from one of their bags and, remembering what Clarke had mentioned in passing about stopping the flow of blood, forced Miller to hold it to his head, saying, “Put pressure on it and hold it there.” Red was starting to seep the through the terrycloth, and Monty set his foot down on the accelerator. 

When they arrived at the emergency room, Monty again hooked Miller’s arm over his shoulder and half-carried him through the doors, shouting, “I need help!” The place was mostly empty, so a nurse came walking up right away, helping Miller over to a chair to assess the injury. Monty let her take over, following as she pushed Miller into a wheelchair and led him through a door to a room lined with doors that led to separate hospital beds.

The nurse got Miller onto a bed, hooking up to various machines as she explained to Monty that Miller most likely needed stitches and they would perform some tests to make sure he didn’t have serious damage. Monty felt lost, but dragged a chair up to the side of Miller’s bed, intent on being there for him if nothing else. 

Monty gripped Miller’s hand as they stitched him up, Miller whimpering quietly, biting down on his lower lip. They had to pick a shard of glass out of Miller’s forehead and Monty felt dizzy. Once it was done, they left Monty and Miller alone for a while and Miller slumped back onto the bed, spent.

Over the next few hours of the night, nurses came in and out, testing Miller’s awareness, making him count backwards from forty or recite the alphabet. Monty stepped out a few times to make phone calls. He asked Miller at one point if he wanted Monty to call Miller’s father, and Miller interrupted him with a loud, “No!” Monty cast him a wary look, but let the matter rest. 

He called Bellamy first, because that was who Miller was closest to. Bellamy was furious. “That fucking moron. He almost got his head knocked off for a cat? When you go back to his room, smack him upside the head for me.”

“I think that might be counterproductive, considering he has a head injury, Bell,” said Monty, but he knew Bellamy was just upset because he cared about Miller like he was his brother, so he told Bellamy he would call him to update him on Miller’s condition.  
As he was in the middle of talking to Octavia and Lincoln, Clarke called him to yell in his ear. “Unbelievable! This is the second time in two days you to have managed to get hurt. Do you need to be constantly supervised?”

“How did you already find out?” he asked.

“Bellamy,” she said sternly.

“Of course. You know, this telephone tree you all have is starting to weird me out.”

“We’re just worried about you guys,” Clarke said, voice softening. 

“Well, we’re both adults who can take care of ourselves, but thank you, Mom, for your concern.”

“Are you sure you don’t need someone to come down there? I could get Lexa to drive me.”

“Aren’t you deathly ill? Too sick to come on a road trip?”

“Well…”

“We’ll be fine, don’t worry. I’m going to take care of Miller.”

“I’m sure you will,” Clarke said, and Monty could hear her grin through the phone.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, but Clarke had already hung up. He frowned, walking back to his place beside Miller.

Monty fell asleep at some point, and woke up with his head cushioned in Miller’s lap. Miller’s hand was in his hair, rubbing small circles into his scalp with the pads of his fingers. It felt so good, to be touched with kindness. It made him miss his mother. He sighed into the scratchy hospital blanket.

“You awake?” Miller asked. His hand didn’t leave Monty’s hair, and Monty was glad.

“Yeah,” Monty responded, turning his head slightly to the side to see Miller better. “How’s your head?”

“Hurts,” Miller grunted. They had put a bandage on the wound, a small, square white one. “They say we can get out of here in a half an hour.”

“Thank God,” Monty said. “I hate hospitals.”

Miller was wheeled out of the hospital. Even though he didn’t seem to have a concussion, they were careful to keep him off his feet as much as possible. “Make sure he doesn’t hit his head again,” one of the nurses instructed Monty.

The van was where Monty had left it, sitting crooked in its parking space. Suddenly remembering something, Monty peeked through the window. “Uh oh,” he said.

“What?” asked Miller drowsily. He looked in alongside Monty and started laughing. The cat from the night before was still there, sitting in the driver’s seat, looking at them mournfully. “You forgot about the cat?”

“I…oh no.” Monty opened the van door on his side. It smelled like cat piss and garbage. “Ugh,” Monty retched. The cat ran to the back of the van as Monty moved to shoo it. It seemed wary of them, but not afraid. As they got into the van, it hissed, but settled down in the back corner of the trunk, tail flicking every now and then.

Miller glared into the back at it. “I can’t believe I risked my life for the ugliest cat on the planet.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, your life was never at risk,” Monty said to him, although in the alleyway he had been afraid that that very thing was true. Monty looked at the bandage on Miller’s head, swollen with red inflamed skin creeping out around the edges. He was so relieved Miller was okay. He had felt his heart stop the moment the bottle had connected with Miller’s head. Reaching over, he pet the area, cooing, “Poor thing.”

Miller smiled and let him.

__________________________________

The road they drove on was bumpy and full of potholes. Every time the car jumped, Miller groaned in pain. “Monty,” he whined. “My head.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Monty sympathized, reaching over to rub Miller’s shoulder. He was driving as slowly as he could to prevent the van from jostling Miller too much. It didn’t seem to help, as Miller clutched at his head at even the smallest bounces.  
“Fuck,” Miller yelped as the wheel drove over a raised pavement marker. 

“Sorry, sorry,” apologized Monty. Seeing Miller in pain was setting him on edge. He wanted to do something to make it better.

He waved at Miller to get his attention. “Listen, can you reach over and get my bag for me?” Miller scowled at him but did as he asked. The cat lifted its eyes from its position near the rear door to watch him as he did, but shut its eyes again as it sensed no immediate danger. The bag clinked as Miller brought it onto his lap.

“What do you have in here, your Precious Moments figurines?” Miller asked him sulkily.

Monty rolled his eyes. “Just open it.” 

Miller unzipped the duffel bag, his eyes widening as he looked inside. “Hell yes,” he breathed. He took a handful of miniature bottles. “Why didn’t you tell me you brought booze?”

Monty shrugged. “I was hoping we could save money on alcohol by just bringing our own. They were like four bucks each, so…” He felt himself grow self-conscious under Miller’s stare. 

“You’re amazing, Monty,” Miller chuckled, cringing as it hurt his head. Monty laughed, too, trying to hide how pleased he was with the compliment. Miller cracked on of the bottles open, a shot of whiskey. He threw it back like a pro, coughing as it burned his throat. “Damn, that was stronger than I expected,” he rasped, facing scrunching up like an accordion. He popped off the cap of another and downed that just as quickly as the first, then another.

“Whoa, slow down there, Miller,” Monty warned as empty bottles began to collect on the floor. “Your head’s just going to hurt worse if you have a hangover in the morning.” Miller didn’t seem to be listening, polishing off another bottle. “At least drink some water in between, Jesus,” he said, trying to focus on the road and not on Miller chugging tiny Absolut’s. As Miller made to open a fifth, Monty swatted it out of his hand. “No. Bad Miller.” He took his bag away, throwing it back into the back. The cat made several disgruntled noises before going back to sleep.

“Oh, come on, Mont, I’m not even drunk yet,” Miller whined, even though Monty could already smell the alcohol wafting off him. 

“Nuh-uh. No more. Drink some water.” Monty took out a water bottle from the plastic bag at their feet and threw it in Miller’s lap.

“Ow, okay. Don’t be such a dad.” Miller cracked the bottle open and took a sip. “Whoa,” he said, clutching at his head. He blinked dizzily at Monty. “I think I maybe drank those too fast.” 

A drunk Miller was surprisingly a livelier, loud, friendlier version of the sober Miller. Once the booze kicked in, Miller turned the radio on and sang loudly along to Katy Perry and Taylor Swift, including dance moves he made up as he went. Monty made sure to film him, not even being secretive about as Miller didn’t seem to care. He sent it out to their friends, snickering as he did. 

_[Bell]: Is this from head trauma?_  
[Clarkey]: i swear to god, monty, if you got him drunk…  
[Harper]: Glad u guys r having fun ~xoxo~ 

Miller looked in the back, grinning at the cat. The alcohol had changed his disposition toward the animal for the better. “That really is the ugliest cat in the world.”

“Aw, no it’s not, it just needs some love. A bath and a shave and you probably wouldn’t even recognize it.”

“What are you going to do with it?” asked Miller, turning himself toward Monty.

“I don’t know. I can’t just release it back into the wild. I feel like we’re responsible for it now.”

“We?” snorted Miller. “I didn’t tell you to grab it.”

“But you’re the one who nearly got a concussion to save it.” Monty frowned at Miller. “Don’t you feel even the smallest feeling of obligation to it?”

Miller looked at Monty, deliberating. “Okay, maybe a little,” he said after a moment. “Where are you going to keep it? I don’t think they allow pets in your dorm.”

“No…” drawled Monty, “but I’m sure they allow them at your apartment.” He beamed at Miller as Miller’s eyes widened in alarm. 

“Hell no, Monty,” Miller said loudly as Monty shouted over him, “Listen, just listen, Miller!” Miller narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re not forcing that ugly trash cat on me.” 

“I’ll pay for everything, all you’ll have to do is keep it your house.”

“Aren’t you stretching your money already? And I have a roommate, you know! I don’t think Murphy will be too thrilled about suddenly being around a cat. He hates cats.”

“Murphy hates all animals, and smiles, and life itself. And aren’t you the only reason you guys got the apartment? Because he needed your money for the security deposit?”

“I mean…” Miller considered. “Yeah, I guess.”

“So it’s not like he can say anything against you. Plus, you haven’t had a pet since Charger or whatever that dog’s name was when you were a kid. It’s time to move on Miller.”

“His name was Dozer,” Miller sniffed. 

“Having a cat around could be good for you. Lighten up your place.”

“I guess,” said Miller after a few beats. Monty applauded. “But!” he shouted, “You will be paying for everything, like you said. I can’t afford vet bills on a Trader Joe’s cashier’s income.” 

“Yes, yes. I said I’d pay, so I’m going to pay.” Monty couldn’t keep the grin off his face. He looked at the cat in the rearview mirror. “If we’re going to keep it, it needs a name. How about Fluffy?”

Miller looked at him at horror. “You must be joking.”

“You can do better, then?”

“What about Trash Cat? I think it suits him.”

“No, that’s mean. How about Beast? Or Snaggletooth? What about Mop? Because he looks like a mop.”

“Yeah, I get it.” Miller shrugged. “You can call him whatever you want, I’m going to call him Trash Cat.”

“Okay, so Trash Cat it is! Hi, Trash Cat!” he yelled at the cat in the back of the van. It didn’t do anything but stare at him. “I think he likes it.”

“It seems we’re cat parents now,” said Miller solemnly. “Great. You know I’m only doing this because you’re cute, right?”

Monty nearly drove them off the road. “Uh…”

“Don’t be shy,” cooed Miller. “You are cute.” Miller reached over a hand to squish Monty’s face between his fingers. “Look at this face. So handsome.”

“Um, um, thanks, Miller?” It was obvious Miller was still drunk, but the comment was getting to Monty. The small space between their shoulders felt too warm and Miller still hadn’t taken his hand away from Monty’s face. His fingers were burning into Monty’s face, branding him. He had to force his eyes to look at the road and not at Miller, whose face had gotten intense all of a sudden.

“Cute,” Miller said again, before he fell back in his seat and fell immediately asleep.

_______________________________

Monty let Miller sleep off the alcohol. They were getting close to the Florida-Georgia line, and Monty was hoping to pass into the Sunshine State before the day was over. He was also hoping Miller wouldn’t wake up and start puking all over himself and Monty. Which, of course, was exactly what ended up happening.

Miller suddenly bolted upright from his previously slumped over position on the window, his hand clutched over his mouth. “Pull over, Monty, pull over!” he insisted, muffled through his fingers.

Monty stepped on the brakes, maneuvering the van over to the side of the road. Miller threw open his door, retching all over the dirt and gravel of the ground. Monty unbuckled his seatbelt and moved to sit closer to Miller, rubbing his back and murmuring comfortingly to him. “Alright, alright, get it all out.” Miller moaned in between heaves.

“Ugh,” Miller grunted after he was finished, wiping at his dripping nose. “Nasty.” Monty reached into the back of the van and into his bag, pulling out his dirty shirt from their first day of traveling. He handed it to Miller to wipe his face. Miller took it gratefully, rubbing the puke from his chin and nose. When he was finished, Miller through it back into the back carelessly. “Monty,” he whined. He draped himself over Monty, wrapping his arms around Monty’s waist. “Monty, I feel gross.” Monty patted Miller’s back soothingly.

Despite the overwhelming smell of bile surrounding Miller, Monty was enjoying the fierce cuddling he was being subjected to. In fact, he was more than enjoying it, he loved it. He could sit there like that, in the front of the van with Miller hugging him close, their bodily warmth mingling and the smell of vomit around them. Maybe it wasn’t everyone’s idea of a perfect romantic moment, but it was perfect to Monty.

Wait a second. Romantic? Who said anything about romance? Here Miller was, relying on Monty for comfort as his friend, and Monty was trying to twist the moment into something lovey-dovey. It’s not like Miller liked him. That was Monty projecting his feelings onto his friend unfairly. No one had liked him back in a long time, so he didn’t know why this was supposed to be any different.

Monty separated himself from Miller, pushing Miller back into his seat. Miller pouted at the loss of contact, looking petulant. “Come on, we need to get some food and water in you,” said Monty by way of an explanation for pulling away. “And we could probably stop for the night, so you don’t throw up in the van. I don’t think I could go seven more hours with the stink of barf in my face.”

Monty drove them to a 7-Eleven nearby. As he got out of the car, he turned to Miller and instructed him, “You stay. Understand? I don’t want you wandering around, still tipsy and with a head injury. That’s a recipe for disaster.” Miller didn’t look eager to move, though, and just weakly glared at Monty. 

Monty walked into the store, making a mental list of things to get. Ibuprofen would be best, and bandages for when Miller’s current ones got dirty. Also, he was sick of granola and bar food, so maybe a little box of cereal. He nodded to the cashier on duty and pulled some Froot Loops and Cheerios off the shelf. He grabbed a little container of milk from the fridge, and turning around, spotted marshmallows. That gave him an idea, and he also grabbed some graham crackers and Hershey’s chocolate. He carried his armful of goodies to the counter to pay. Their cache of cash was slowly dwindling. Monty hoped they would have enough to be comfortable for the time they would spend in Miami.

Monty carried the bags out to the van. He opening the sliding side door of the Chevy, setting the merchandise on the floor. Popping the cap off the bottle of Motrin, he handed two to Miller to take. “These will help your head.” Miller grumbled but gulped them down with some water. Then Monty took out a can of Fancy Feast. The tin top rolled off and the fishy smell wafted through the car, grabbing the attention of Trash Cat. “Ew, that smells awful.”

“Well, it’s for the cat, not you,” said Monty. Leaning into the back of the van, he placed the can a few feet from Trash Cat and waited. Trash Cat looked at the food for a few seconds, sniffing in the air in hesitation, before pouncing. His whole head dived into the food, lapping and biting and chewing noisily. Monty and Miller both looked on in fascination. “Poor cat, I bet he hasn’t eaten in days.”

“Look at him go!” exclaimed Miller. “He looks like me when I eat ribs.”

Once Trash Cat had put away the whole tin, he sat back on his haunches, cleaning his face with his paws. He looked a lot happier than he had when they had first encountered him in the alleyway. Bones stuck through his skin, but Monty figured a few weeks of regular meals would change that. Monty poured some water into the now empty can and Trash Cat attacked that too, drinking it down fast. 

“Hm,” Miller hummed. “Maybe he’s not that ugly, after all.”

Monty drove them a couple more miles up the road remembering a sign for a campsite. Miller was dozing next to him, sighing and groaning in his semi-sleep state. The sun was starting to set and as they pulled up to the campground, lamps lit up like fireflies, one by one. They payed twenty dollars to get in, and twenty more dollars disappeared from their money stockpile. 

They found a spot a couple hundred yards from the bathroom facilities, which were primitive and covered in spider webs but Monty Green was not about to start shitting in the woods, no sir. Miller stumbled out of the car, hooting appreciatively at the wide open space, sucking in the air as he stretched out his limbs. Their little area had an empty space to park the van, a picnic table, and fire pit with the last camper’s ashes still sitting in a neat gray pile in the middle of it. It was cozy and picturesque, everything Monty could have asked for. He headed toward the bathrooms, taking a long-awaited piss.

When he came back to their spot, Miller was already digging around in the grocery bags Monty had carried out from 7-Eleven, whooping when he saw the marshmallows. “Fuck yeah, s’mores!” he shouted. Monty laughed at his glee, not caring that they were probably interrupting the other campers around them as it was getting late; he was content to watch Miller searching the ground for sticks to put his marshmallows on, happy that they were familiar enough with each other that Miller could show him his playful, childlike side. 

“Hey, dinner before dessert,” instructed Monty in a mock-stern voice, pulling out the mini containers of cereal and the little bottle of milk. 

Miller snatched up the box of Froot Loops. “How’d you know these are my favorite?” he asks Monty with a lopsided smile on his face. 

Monty blushed and shrugged. “Just a lucky guess,” he said as he opened his Cheerios. He wouldn’t admit that he had heard Bellamy complain that Miller always ate all of his Froot Loops whenever he came over to play video games and had stored it away in his brain, in the special folder he reserved for ‘All Things Nathan Miller.’ 

Monty poured the milk over his cereal, prepared to dig in, when he realized, “I forgot spoons.” He slapped himself across the forehead.

“No problemo,” said Miller, who picked up the plastic container and started pouring the cereal-and-milk mixture into his open mouth. Monty watched in awe as Miller chugged it down, barely chewing. Miller finished, looking proud of himself. “S’good,” he said around a mouthful.

Monty shook his head but copied Miller’s actions, milk dribbling down his chin and onto the collar or his shirt. It took him a lot longer than Miller to get it all down, but when he did, Miller clapped and cheered. “That new skill will come in handy when you’re hungry but late for class. You’re welcome,” said Miller, waggling his eyebrows. Monty snorted, bumping Miller’s shoulder with his own. Miller bumped back, until they were shoving each other around. 

“Hey!” shouted Monty as Miller tried to tackle him. Monty set off in the direction of the trees, Miller cackling behind him. Blood rushed in Monty’s ears and he found himself laughing along with Miller as they chased each other around the campsite. Monty had more trouble catching Miller, since he hadn’t played sports since high school and he didn’t have a lot of time to go to the gym between school and work. Miller was faster, but let Monty gain ground on him just so he could rush forward at the last second and tap Monty on the shoulder so their roles would reverse again. 

After a particularly long chase, Monty was running at full speed when he felt Miller run into his back, wrapping his muscled arms around Monty’s stomach, swinging him around. Monty squeaked in surprise. Miller was strong, and the arms around his middle were thick, the forearms veiny. Miller’s back was solid and warm. Monty felt Miller lean down to breath, “Got you,” into his ear and his heart skipped a beat. Miller set him slowly back onto the ground and Monty twisted around in his grip to look him in the face. Their eyes met and Monty was shocked to see Miller blushing too, his eyes on Monty’s lips. Monty swallowed and stood like that, not sure if he was frozen or waiting for something to happen. Miller’s lips were chapped and his breath smelled but he knew if Miller tried to kiss him he wouldn’t say no.

Not like Miller would try to kiss him. Because Miller didn’t like him that way. Because Miller had only been his friend for the last two days. Because Miller was beautiful and Monty was…Monty. 

Monty jerked backwards, almost tripping over his own shoes in his hurry to head back toward their camp, missing the way Miller leaned his head closer just as Monty turned away. “We should start a fire!” he yelled over his shoulder to a confused Miller, and Monty began picking up burnable sticks on his way to distract himself from the confusing, uncomfortable weight that was taking hold in his chest.

Monty’s family had a fire pit in their backyard in California, and even though they were only allowed to use it sparingly because all of the droughts, he knew what kind of quality firewood had to be. Not wet, not green, a few bigger pieces with a lot of littler ones mixed in for kindling. There were dead leaves on the ground at the camp, smushed into the dirt, and some fallen pine cones and pine needles, and he gathered all of them as he told Monty to look for large blocks of wood. Collecting firewood was something that reminded him of home, so the awkwardness of earlier and the queasy feeling that had blanketed Monty’s mood dissipated as they walked around. Miller would bring him sticks, looking for approval, and Monty would nod or shake his head. Once Monty was satisfied with their supply, he took his time arranging the wood in the way his father had taught him, logs in a teepee shape with the kindling at the bottom. He only stopped fiddling with it when it looked perfect.

“You’re anal about the weirdest things,” Miller observed as Monty stood up, dusting off his knees. When Monty pulled a lighter out of his pocket, Miller looked at him curiously. “Why do you carry a lighter around in your pocket? I’ve never seen you smoke cigarettes.”

Monty’s grin was sly. “Maybe you’ll find out,” he said, and flicked the lighter to life. Monty blew on the kindling expertly to help the heat spread, and threw more on the fire as it built. It was a pretty sight; a blooming red-and-yellow flower with a bluish-white center, slowly eating at the wood around it. The heat was overwhelming, searing Monty’s skin, but he didn’t step back; instead, he let it turn his face and arms red, pushing his palms closer to really feel it pull his blood to the surface. Miller was fiddling around behind him, ripping open the plastic bag that held the marshmallows. He carried it over to Monty, stuffing a few in his mouth before he handed over the bag. Monty took a few out too and suck them in his cheeks, sucking on the fluffy sugar until it melted.

“Here,” Miller said from beside him. Monty turned in curiosity to find Miller offering him a stick shyly, like he was handing over a gift he had personally made. Monty took it, feeling still more confused with the change in Miller’s demeanor toward him. He thought it was because of their newly formed friendship, but Monty had never seen Miller act that way with Bellamy. In fact, the friendship between Miller and Bellamy was quiet and strong, the respect and admiration that Miller felt for Bellamy shining through his eyes. They rarely got rowdy with each other, more likely to have heart-to-heart talks or play basketball (although there were a few times that they’d had to be dragged home by Raven and Octavia after a night of tearing up the town). All of Miller’s mood swings from loud and goofy to self-conscious and bashful were throwing Monty off. But he made sure to thank Miller anyway, spearing a marshmallow on the end.

They stood in the halo of light the fire cast around them, watching their marshmallows form a cocoon of brown around themselves. Monty discovered Miller was the kind of person that liked to let his marshmallows catch fire and then blow them out right after, ‘to get the right amount of crispness and gooiness,’ Miller explained. He made Monty try a s’more that way, the squishy white inside seeping through the burnt black outside. It was good, better than Monty expected it to be, the charred taste mixing nicely with the sweetness of the sugar. 

They had multiple s’mores, Miller three and Monty two. Both of their hands were getting sticky, and Monty sucked on his teeth to get at the marshmallow that was clinging to them. Miller raised his hand and brought it to Monty’s face, swiping the pad of his thumb along the corner of Monty’s mouth. When he pulled it away, he wiped it off on his shirt, but kept watching Monty. Monty felt like he was being pinned down, like Miller’s stare weighed a ton. He stuffed the rest of his s’more in his mouth for something to do and when Miller still kept looking at him, headed toward the car just to be away from his gaze.

Monty didn’t know why he was being so avoidant. Normally he was someone who faced up to his feelings. While he didn’t like conflict, he also didn’t like unspoken words and bottled-up feelings, because they made things messy and Monty hated messy. But Miller made him act unlike himself, turned him upside down, set his whole world off its axis. When he was around Miller, anything that toed the line of ‘too many feelings’ made him want to tuck his tail in and run. He was aware that he was acting cowardly, that he should of just faced up to his fears, but to be fair, he’d had a long three days and he had never been good with romance anyway.

Pulling out his bag, he took a handful of the tiny bottles scattered among his clothes. There were still a lot left (he’d gone a little crazy at the liquor store). He turned to Miller, who was toeing the ground with his sneaker, and forced a smile. “Think it’s time for another drink?” he asked. Miller squinted at him but walked over and accepted a bottle of Jack Daniels. 

That was how they ended up on the roof of the car, pouring out their life stories to each other. Monty told Miller things he had never told anyone else before (except maybe Jasper and his sisters). From an outside observer, it probably looked like to hammered idiots babbling, but to Monty it felt like a therapy session. 

“You know,” Miller began as they looked up at the stars. “The reason I wanted to leave D.C. so bad was, I, uh,” he sounded guilty and miserable, so Monty reached out a hand and threaded his fingers through Miller’s, which seemed like the rational thing to do while his brain was clouded with Fireball but his sober mind would have been to mortified to even attempt.

“It’s okay, Miller. Whatever it is, I won’t judge you.” He rubbed his thumb over Miller’s knuckles comfortingly, and Miller tightened his hold on Monty’s hand.

“Whew,” Miller blew out a shaky breath. “Okay. I wanted to leave D.C. so bad because I got arrested.”

Monty had no idea what to say to that. “O-oh,” he said ineffectually. 

“Yeah,” muttered Miller, sounding disgusted with himself. “I got caught shoplifting. You’re probably wondering, what financially stable adult man gets caught shoplifting? Isn’t that something bored suburban white girls do?” Miller chuckled without any humor. “I was fed up, you know? Fed up with how things were. I’m in college but I feel like my life is going nowhere, like I’m in a car going full speed that’s headed toward a brick wall. I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up, but my dad is pushing me to go into criminology. He thinks we can be that cliché father-son team from the movies, that kid following in his old man’s footsteps.”

“But you…don’t want to be a police officer,” Monty interjected.

“Nope,” Miller confirmed. “I have no interest. All I know that I want to do is play sports and hang out with my friends, but I guess that isn’t good enough for him. He’s been threatening to stop helping with tuition, and I just kept getting angrier, and when one of Murphy’s friends dared me steal some beer from the convenience store near our apartment, I think I saw it as an opportunity to get back at him, or…I don’t know, show him. Which, now that I think about it, sounds really dumb. And when I got caught with the case of beer up my shirt, and I had to face my dad’s friends from the precinct, it was humiliating instead of satisfying.” Miller laughed. “You can’t even imagine how angry my dad was. He came straight from his desk to come scream at me in while I was being booked. And then, once the store dropped the charges because they knew my dad, he drove me home and then screamed at more there, and I screamed back. It got a little heated and I- I said some things that weren’t fair. And now I’m too scared to apologize, because I’m scared.”

“Of what?” asked Monty gently. 

“Of what he’ll say. That he’s disappointed, that he doesn’t forgive me, that he doesn’t want to see me for a while.”

“Miller, he’s your dad. He could be furious with you and I have a feeling he would still love you like his life depended on it.”

“You can say that, but he’s not just a parent, he’s human. And I’m getting old enough to know better than to push him. The saddest thing is, I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t want to talk to me. I can be hard to deal with sometimes, as you probably know by now.”

Monty shook his head, but Miller couldn’t see it because he was looking with wet eyes up at the moon, so instead he just squeezed Miller’s hand. “The only person who could really handle me,” Miller continued after a while, “was my mother. She knew that I could get moody and how to cheer me up. She was the one who would settle arguments between my dad and me. Things have been hard since she died.”

“Miller, I didn’t…” Monty sighed, angry with himself, thumping his head back against the metal roof of the car. “I had no idea your mother had passed away.”

“It’s okay.” Miller untangled their hands to swing his arm up, Monty lifting his head up so he was resting it on Miller’s bicep, which was much comfortable than the top of the van. “It happened before we met.”

“How long ago was it?” Monty asked. “You don’t have to tell me,” he added in a rush. 

“It’s going on seven years now. She got mugged on her way home from work, and they were young and didn’t know how to handle a gun. It was an accident.”

“I’m sorry,” Monty said. Even if he knew it didn’t mean anything, that it had happened a long time ago and he couldn’t change it, he was sorry and wanted to soothe that ache in Miller’s heart somehow. He moved his head so it settled onto Miller’s shoulder.

“Thanks, Mont. That means a lot,” Miller said, brushing Monty’s hair from his eyes. He looked up at the sky, blinking away the start of tears. Sighing, he said, “I miss her.”

Though it probably wasn’t the right moment, Monty added, “Me too.”

“Yeah?” Miller asked, glancing down at him. The moon was shining in his eyes.

“Yeah,” answered Monty. Swallowing down a lump in his throat, he continued, “I haven’t seen her in so long. Plane tickets are so expensive, and I’ve been so busy with school. I try to talk to her every day on the phone but sometimes I forget and I’ll wake up in the middle of the night feeling guilty. She doesn’t work and all of her children have moved out, so I think a lot about how lonely she must be and it makes me so sad.” Monty could feel himself getting choked up. “I miss how she switches from talking between English and Korean without realizing. I miss her jjajangmyeon. I miss the way she flicked me on the back of the head to get my attention when I wasn’t listening. I miss my whole family, actually. I don’t know why I decided to go to college in Washington D.C.”  
Monty looked up at Miller through his eyelashes. “Sorry, Miller. I ramble when I’m drunk.”

“S’fine. I like listening to you talk.” Monty felt himself gulp reflexively. “And you can call me Nathan, if you want.”

“Okay,” Monty said, or more accurately whispered, too cowed by the look in Miller’s – Nathan’s - eyes to speak any louder. The emotion was back on Nathan’s face, the one that made Monty weak in the knees and giddy but at the same time filled him with the sort of dread that had him wanting to run for cover. They had both fallen quiet, and Monty had his neck stretched up to look at Nathan whose chin was folded up like an accordion from looking down at Monty, and their foreheads were brushing in the smallest way that felt like the biggest way somehow. Monty knew he had to make an escape.

“Miller – I mean, Nathan, I-“ he stuttered, squirming in Nathan’s grasp, a hand on his chest.

But Nathan was already leaning toward him. “Monty, just wait.” Nathan’s voice was slurred but determined, and when Monty felt a hand touch his cheek he froze in fear. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open just a little, and it must have been a funny sight because Nathan’s face was flickering between amused and unsure, face inching closer to Monty’s. His hot breath was ghosting across Monty’s face, his lips, and he couldn’t look anywhere but Nathan’s eyes, which were locked on Monty’s lips. It felt like it was taking an eternity for the space between them to close, surely enough time for Monty to move away, but he was too torn to do anything but gape as Nathan’s face finally closed in on him and he pressed the gentlest, sweetest kiss to Monty’s top lip.  
Nathan pulled away slightly, eyes sweeping over Monty’s face, which was still locked in an alarmed looked. Monty’s lip was warm and tingly right where Nathan had kissed him, and he wanted to reach up and touch it, but one arm was trapped under Nathan’s side and the other pressed to his chest, and Nathan was looking at him with the biggest, brownest eyes, a horrified look downing on his face like he’d just committed some terrible crime and Monty was too surprised and happy and scared and guilty to do anything but roll right off the top of the van. As he collided with the ground, he thought, _Monty, you asshole,_ and then passed out from a combination of alcohol and shock. 

______________________________________

Bird calls were what woke Monty up. Groaning, he blinked his eyes open. Morning light washed everything out, making the world pale and bright. Monty’s head hurt, and so did his ribs. He was on his side, and looking him straight in the face was Trash Cat, who was curled up in a ball. Trash Cat didn’t look at all fazed to have Monty breathing morning breath in his face, nor did he seem to care about their close proximity. 

Monty sat up, his muscles groaning in pain at the stretch after staying in one uncomfortable position for so long. Trash Cat didn’t move as he got up except to twitch one paw up so he could lick it and swipe it across his face, which of course did nothing to actually clean him. A towel fell off of Monty as he finally struggled into a sitting position, as if someone had draped it over him in the night. He didn’t recognize it, so it must have been Miller’s.

Nathan’s, he meant. Nathan, who had kissed him last night. Nathan, who had kissed him and who Monty hadn’t kissed back even though that was something he desperately wanted, had dreamt about more than once in the time they had known each other. Nathan, who had kissed and he hadn’t kissed back, and instead Monty had turned away from him, as if rolling off the roof of a fucking car was more appealing than having his lips touch Monty’s. 

If Monty didn’t know Nathan was somewhere outside the van sleeping, he probably would have cried, both because of his own stupidity and how gross he felt. He needed water, like, immediately. He felt like his tongue had turned to dust in his mouth and was choking him, and his own breath was making him want to gag. 

He chugged one of the last remaining water bottles he’d brought with him and steeled himself to step out of the van. It was partially open already, like Nathan hadn’t wanted to slam it lest it wake Monty up. He peeked through the dirty window and saw Nathan asleep outside. He was sprawled across the top of the picnic table, mouth gaping open, one arm thrown across his chest and the other dangling off the side of the tabletop. Monty felt terrible that Nathan had felt he’d had to sleep outside in the elements, amongst the bugs and cold. Nathan hadn’t even taken a towel to act as a blanket like the one he’d thrown over Monty. The guilt festering in Monty’s stomach multiplied. 

As quietly as he could, Monty slid the van door open. It hissed and made a clunking sound as it settled back on its hinges. Thankfully, it didn’t wake Nathan up, so Monty ran, again, as quietly as he could, to the bathroom. When he came back, he nearly had a heart attack as Nathan was sitting straight up. “Monty?” he mumbled, rubbing his fists in his eyes to clear away sleep. 

“Um,” gulped Monty, “good morning.” Nathan smiled groggily at him, swaying in his spot on the table. Monty watched as awareness bloomed on his face, and Nathan’s smile gave way to the blank look he had had at the beginning of their trip. Monty averted his eyes, toeing the dirt under his feet so he had something to focus on besides the man in front of him who he hadn’t kissed back.

“Morning,” replied Nathan in a flat voice, and hoisted himself off the table. “Hungry?” he asked Monty, brushing off the seat of his pants.

Monty wanted to say, “We need to talk, right now.” He wanted to say, “We were drunk last night and you tried to kiss me last night and I didn’t kiss you back.” He wanted to say, “I like you a lot, Nathan, I like you so much, maybe more than so much. I want to make you food and cuddle with you while we watch movies and call you when I have a nightmare and maybe make out a lot.” He wanted to say, “I should have kissed you back.” Instead he said, “Yeah, I’m starving,” and they got in their van and began their trip once again.

_________________________________________

Nathan drove this time, one hand on the wheel and the other with his elbow propped on the window and his chin propped on his hand. Monty said nothing, and neither did Nathan, and they drove together in silence. 

For breakfast, they drove into a Krystal parking lot. Monty never thought he would be sick of eating junk food, but their road trip diet was making him dread sticking another greasy blob of carbs into his mouth. It wasn’t like they had a lot of choices, though, so Monty powered through. 

As Nathan stepped into line behind all the other exhausted-looking travelers to order, Monty excused himself to the bathroom (or more like, ran to the bathroom before Nathan could notice he was gone). He whipped out his phone charger and plugged his phone in so it didn’t die during his call, checked to make sure he had reception, and then dialed Harper.

The second she picked up, before she was even able to say, “Hey, Monty,” Monty was whisper-screaming into the receiver, “Nathan kissed me!”

It was quiet on the other line except for the rustles and mumbles of being out in public, and then Harper asked, “Who the hell is Nathan?”

“It’s Miller’s first name, dumbass,” said a sarcastic voice Monty recognized as Raven. “Some friend you are.” Monty could almost hear Harper and Raven sticking their tongues out at each other. 

“Oh, hey, Rave,” said Monty, feeling calmer just hearing his friends’ voices. “Where are you guys?”

“The gym,” a new voice chimed in, Clarke’s this time. 

“Clarke, why are you at the gym? If I recall correctly, you have the flu.”

“Well,” answered Raven for her, “Lexa had to go to class and we snuck Clarke out, so of course the first thing she wanted to do was go exercise. Workaholic,” she shot at Clarke.

“It’s important to keep up a healthy exercise regimen to maintain a healthy body,” Clarke recited in her Doctor Griffin voice. “Ahem, anyway, back to the matter at hand. What were you saying, Monty?”

“I, um,” Monty stuttered, “I mean, Nathan…kissed me.”

“Cool, how was it?” asked Harper.

Monty flopped his mouth open and closed a few times, and then said in confusion, “How was it? What? No girly shrieking? The last time I told you I kissed a boy you flailed so hard you fell off your bed. After I gave my first blow job, you bought me a whole ice cream cake.”

“Now that you expect me to be dramatic, I obviously have to tone it down to avoid getting predictable,” explained Harper. “Also, we sort of knew Miller was going to kiss you.”

“What?” yelled Monty, the noise bouncing around in the small, tiled room.

“Oh, sorry, I mean _Nathan_ ,” Harper corrected herself with a flourish.

“I don’t think that that’s the part he’s confused about,” offered Raven.

“Oh,” said Harper. “Well, with the sexual tension between the two of you, and the closeness of being smushed into a car for almost twenty-four hours, it was bound to happen. We didn’t plan for all the other stuff to happen, like totaling Lincoln’s car, good job by the way, but it just gave you guys more time to work out your issues.”

“Plan? What do you mean, plan?” Monty asked frantically. 

“You didn’t really think we all just suddenly had urgent plans a few weeks before the trip, right? Especially when we know how weird you get about dates?” Raven laughed. “Bellamy and I didn’t even have good excuses.”

“Yeah, but I thought it was just you two being jerks,” Monty said, a pout in his voice.

“It was, but mostly it was us trying to back out at the last minute,” said Raven.

“Okay, so let me just get all this straight in my head. We all made plans to force me and Miller into spending time with each other in the hopes that something would happen between us?” Monty said. “Even Jasper?”

Raven must have heard a timid note in his voice, because she reassured him, “Yeah. Even Jasper. He wants you to be happy, you know?”

Ignoring the pity in Raven’s voice, Monty huffed, “That’s evil. You guys are evil.”

“You can’t really blame us! We were all sick of seeing you two dance around each other. It was exhausting to watch.”

“So…” Monty drawled. “Does that mean you think Nathan likes me?” he asked tentatively.

The other line was silent awhile before he heard Harper murmur to one of the other girls, “Is he joking?”

“Listen, Monty,” Clarke spoke up. “Why don’t you get off the phone with us and go ask him yourself?”

“Whatever. I hate all of you. For real.” He pressed the red button on the screen of his smartphone, severing the connection.

Monty flushed the toilet before he left to give the illusion that he hadn’t been doing anything silly like call his friends in a panic over a first kiss. When he looked around the restaurant, Nathan was already occupying a table with two sets of food in front of him. Monty sat down in front of him slowly, the smile stretching his face too nervous to be natural. “Did you have to wait long?” he asked Nathan, trying to fill up any awkward silence before it settled around them.

“Nah,” Nathan said, “They work pretty fast here.” He pushed a tray toward Monty that was covered in food. “Here, I ordered for you. I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I just kind of got some of everything. It’s important to eat after a night of drinking.” His voice was stern and Monty hid a smile.

“Okay, Mom,” he teased, and Nathan’s face melted from a frown into a sheepish grin. Suddenly, the atmosphere was a lot less tense, both of them relaxing with just a friendly joke. They ate and chatted, both excited to be getting even closer to their destination. They are quickly, wanting to get back on the road. Monty wrapped up some leftover sausage from his breakfast sandwich, wondering aloud if Trash Cat would like it. Nathan grinned and patted him on the head. “I think he’d eat anything.”

Nathan drove again, and Monty couldn’t help glancing at him over and over out of the corner of his eye. One question was on his mind. Did Nathan like him? It was hard to tell; he was a hard book to read. While Monty usually wore his heart on his sleeve, Nathan seemed to like to keep his emotions locked up tight. It only served to make Monty want to get closer to him, to make him open up.

But his own petty fears were holding him back. He had had disastrous crushes in the past, and he didn’t feel like getting hurt again. He hated that fragile feeling of loving someone more than they loved you, the feeling of being unwanted. However, when Nathan turned to him with a toothy smile, it made his heart stutter and he cursed himself for being so scared.

They were finally in Florida, the setting changing from thick forest to twiggy trees and swampland. Flocks of birds flew over the many stretches of water, swooping down to pluck wriggling fish for lunch. It was getting hotter, too; Nathan turned up the air conditioning full blast, the noise of it almost drowning out the radio. The sweaty backs of Monty’s legs were being rubbed raw by the itchy fabric of the van’s seats.

Every now and then they passed billboard signs advertising backroad shacks selling roasted peanuts or fresh produce. As the sun rose higher in the sky, Monty could feel himself growing hungrier, and Nathan was too, as his stomach growled almost in unison with Monty’s. They looked at each other and chuckled at the coincidence. When they passed another sign for a roadside market, Nathan got into the exit turn lane. “No harm in supporting small businesses, right?”

The market was tiny, a little stand that sold fruits and vegetables and homemade treats. There were tarts and jars of preserves stacked on rickety wooden shelves, colorful and inviting. Monty could feel his mouth water at the sight. The old woman running that stand had a hint of a Southern accent when she asked them, “What can I get you boys today?”

Monty tapped his index finger against his chin, thinking. There was a chalkboard menu nailed to the stand, but everything on it looked so good that he couldn’t decide on one thing. “What’s the best thing you sell?” he finally asked.

The old woman smiled kindly and went into the back of the small shed, returning with a paper cone filed with round, fried dough and a small plastic container of sauce. “These are our apple cider donuts. The best sweets you’ll ever taste.” Nathan took the donuts from her and Monty pulled out his wallet, but the woman waved him off. “On the house. You boys look famished.”

They thanked her and walked back to the van. The sun beat down on them and they had to bat away flies that tried to land on their food, but the donuts were delicious and Nathan’s hip kept bumping into Monty’s, so the heat and bugs were easy to ignore.  
Nathan was a messy eater, his fingers and mouth quickly becoming sticky with sauce. He was holding the paper cone and the little plastic tub while trying to dunk his donut in it at the same time. He looked cute, tongue sticking out a little at the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on not dropping anything. The sauce tipped precariously and Monty giggled. “Here,” he said, taking the donut Nathan had in his hand and dipping it in the plastic ramekin. When it was sufficiently coated, he held the ball of dough up to Nathan’s mouth. Nathan leaned forward, taking the treat into his mouth, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a shy grin. Monty’s fingertips brushed the inside of Nathan’s lips and the situation felt so domestic that he suddenly had flashes of Nathan and him as a couple.

Holding Nathan’s hand as they walked through campus together, hiding his face in Nathan’s shoulder in embarrassment when he says something cheesy; watching television with Nathan’s head in his lap, stroking a finger over his cheekbone; Nathan bringing him chocolate on Valentine’s Day; waking up with their noses smushed together, breathing each other’s air. It was so sappy and silly but Monty found himself wanting it with his whole heart. He felt his body lock up with desire, a desire for closeness and intimacy; not with just anyone, but the man standing in front of him with fried dough stuck in his teeth.

Monty said nothing, not spoiling the moment. He kept his sudden epiphany to himself, stewed over it even as they got back in the car. He knew Nathan could sense that something had changed, but he kept thinking, mulling over his thoughts.

Monty Green was not a coward. He was someone who stood up for his friends, wasn’t afraid to face down bullies if it meant keeping them safe. He was learning to stand up for himself to, to ask for what he wanted. His father had told him that nothing in life came easy and to reach for what you wanted. He had taken that to heart, joined clubs and applied for scholarships and campaigned for student council positions.

But when it came to relationships, he was hesitant, afraid to rock the boat. He was more comfortable with being approached than doing the approaching, had never asked out anyone in his life. He could count the number of boyfriends he’d had on one hand. He was inexperienced and insecure. 

Except that this time, he knew what he wanted. Nathan was what he wanted, so badly it ached. And he wouldn’t get Nathan unless he asked. 

So he made up his mind.

“Can you pull over?” he asked Nathan. 

Nathan turned to him in surprise. “What? Seriously?”

“Yeah. Just pull over,” Monty insisted. Thankfully there was an open field on their right, and Nathan navigated the van onto the tall grass. Monty got out the second the car had stopped, rubbing his hands together and pacing. Nathan followed, looking apprehensive. 

“Is everything okay?” Nathan asked tentatively. Monty shook his head and Nathan swallowed visibly. “Okay. Okay. Is this about last night? Because I know it was inappropriate, I’m sorry, really-“ 

“Nathan, shut up!” Monty half-yelled. Nathan jerked like he’d been slapped, mouth open in an o-shape. “Sorry, I just…I need to say something.” He cleared his throat and wiped his sweaty palms down the sides of his shirt. “Alright. Here goes. I like you, Nathan. I’ve liked you since the moment I met you. You’re beautiful. You’re interesting. It might be hard for some people to tell, but you’re sweet and thoughtful and fun, too. But I didn’t think you liked me back.”

When you kissed me, I was…shocked, to say the least. I’ve liked you for so long and I didn’t think you even thought about me all that much.” Nathan opened his mouth to say something. “Which is my fault! I know it is. I’ve been avoiding you for, like, two years. Because I’m bad at,” Monty gestured between them, “this. At relationships. Or even possible relationships.”

My first boyfriend cheated on me. My second boyfriend broke into my dorm, stole my wallet, and disappeared. And,” he took a deep breath, “God, this is embarrassing. You might have heard this from Bellamy, but the person I had a ‘relationship’ with was Jasper.” Nathan’s eyebrows shot up. “Yeah. It was a disaster. They always say don’t fall in love with a straight boy. It wasn’t anything major, we kissed a few times and I told him I loved him. He told me he was just experimenting and he’d gotten a girlfriend.” Monty sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “That was a few months ago.”

“Is that why I haven’t heard you talk to him once on this trip? Usually you guys are attached at the hip,” Nathan interrupted. 

“Yep. And it’s my fault, I should have known. He’s the most hetero boy I know.” Monty shrugged sheepishly. “On top of everything else, it really hurt my self-esteem and I guess…I guess I thought you would be the same. That you wouldn’t want me, you were just pretending.” Monty felt water dripping down his neck and realized he’d started crying. He sniffled and rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m being dumb, I’m sorry.”

“Stop.” A strong pair of arms wrapped around Monty’s back. Monty buried his face in Nathan’s shoulder, breathing in the smell of his shirt. He thought that that was the first time he was really able to appreciate how good Nathan was at giving hugs; he felt safe and cared about. He nuzzled closer to Nathan. “You are being dumb. But only because you thought I didn’t like you. I do. I like-like you. You’re kind and adorable and you light up every room you’re in and you make me happier just by being around.” Monty felt a wave of emotion swell up from deep inside, an overwhelming flood of relief and happiness. He felt himself half-crying and half-laughing. It was a strange feeling, and to any outside observer it might have seemed like he was hysterical, but it was a nice one, and he hugged Nathan back. Nathan cleared his throat. “I know I didn’t ask you last time, but um…can I kiss you, Monty?”

Monty shook his head. “Oh, oh,” Nathan stuttered out, releasing his hold on Monty and stepping back, “Sorry, I misread the situation-“

“Wait, Nathan! Wait, I just meant I didn’t want you to kiss me while my face is covered in snot.” Monty pulled up the bottom of his shirt and wiped it all across his face, getting the mess off. He must have looked disgusting, but Nathan obviously didn’t care because when Monty told him, “Okay, now you can kiss me,” he immediately stepped forward to place his lips on Monty’s.

Their second kiss was much better than their first, considering Monty was actively participating this time. Nathan’s lips were dry and warm, and Monty could still taste the cider donuts on the tip of Nathan’s tongue when he dipped it into Monty’s mouth. Even though they were standing on the side of the road, gravel and dust coating their shoes and their clothes stuck to them with sweat, with a mostly-failed road trip behind them, the kiss was perfect to Monty.

___________________________________

When they arrived in Miami, Nathan did exactly what he said he would – he dashed out of the van before it had even stopped, booking it straight for the water. Monty yelled after him, laughing. They were lucky to find a spot right up next to the beach in early summer, and Monty counted his blessings as he paid the meter. He picked up Trash Cat, wary to leave him alone in the hot van, and set off after his… date? Boyfriend? Special friend? It didn’t really matter what he was, because whatever he was, he was Monty’s now. Monty grinned like an idiot. Trash Cat yowled and dug his claws into Monty’s arms as Monty ran to catch up with Nathan. 

They sat on the beach together, Monty, Nathan, and Trash Cat, looking out over the blue, blue water, sparkling in the afternoon sun. “It so much more beautiful than I thought it was,” Nathan said in reverent tones. Monty nodded in agreement.

“You know what’s funny?” Monty asked Nathan, who hummed to indicate for him to continue. “I rented out the hotel rooms for seven days, but the most we're probably going to be able to stay here is two days and then we’ll have to get back on the road.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Nathan said. “If the trip didn’t go exactly as it had, we might not have been at the campsite and I would never have kissed you, or we wouldn’t have been on the side of the road in Central Florida with you confessing your feelings. I’d rather give up the whole vacation than those moments.”

Monty made retching noises. “You’re already getting sappy and we haven’t even been together a whole twenty-four hours. I hope you don’t start serenading me in the dining hall.” Nathan just gave him a sloppy kiss on his cheek.


End file.
